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OVERLAND  TALES 


BY 


JOSEPHINE    CLIFFORD. 


SAN    FRANCISCO: 

A.   L.   BANCROFT    &    CO. 

1877. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1877,  by 

JOSEPHINE    CLIFFORD, 
in  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


COI.LINS,  PRINT  ICR. 


SM 

Art** 


3*7. 


TO    MY    KINDEST 

AND 

MOST  CONSTANT  READER, 
MOTHER. 


PREFACE. 


IN  the  book  I  now  lay  before  the  reader,  I  have  col- 
lected a  series  of  stories  and  sketches  of  journeyings 
through  California,  Arizona,  and  New  Mexico.  There 
is  little  of  fiction,  even  in  the  stories ;  and  the  sketches, 
I  flatter  myself,  are  true  to  life  —  as  I  saw  it,  at  the 
time  I  visited  the  places. 

A  number  of  these  stories  first  appeared  in  the  OVER- 
LAND MONTHLY,  but  some  of  them  are  new,  and  have 
never  been  published.  I  bespeak  for  them  all  the 
attentive  perusal  and  undivided  interest  of  the  kind 

reader. 

THE  AUTHOR. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

LA    GRACIOSA 13 

JUANITA 53 

HETTY'S  HEROISM,         .         .         .  « 68 

A    WOMAN'S    TREACHERY, 87 

THE    GENTLEMAN  FROM  SISKIYOU, 101 

SOMETHING  ABOUT  MY  PETS, 119 

POKER-JIM, 137 

THE    TRAGEDY  AT  MOHAWK  STATION,  ...       153 

LONE   LINDEN, 1G1 

MANUELA, 188 

THE  ROMANCE    OF  GILA   BEND 204 

A   LADY  IN  CAMP, 219 

THE    GOLDEN  LAMB 237 

IT  OCCURRED  AT  TUCSON, 260 

A   BIT  OF  "EARLY  CALIFORNIA," 274 

HER  NAME    WAS  SYLVIA .         .282 

CROSSING    THE  ARIZONA   DESERTS, 296 

DOWN  AMONG    THE   DEAD  LETTERS,       ....       310 

MARCHING    WITH  A    COMMAND 321 

TO    TEXAS,  AND   BY  THE    WAY, 354 

MY  FIRST  EXPERIENCE  IN  NE  W  MEXICO,  ,  367 


OVERLAND   TALES. 


LA   GRACIOSA. 

IT  was  a  stolid  Indian  face,  at  the  first  casual  glance,  but 
lighting   up  wonderfully  with  intelligence  and  a  genial 
smile,  when  the  little  dark  man,  with  the  Spanish  bearing, 
was  spoken  to.     Particularly  when  addressed  by  one  of  the 
fairer  sex,  did  a  certain  native  grace  of  demeanor,  an  air  of 
chivalrous  gallantry,  distinguish   him    from   the  more  cold- 
blooded, though,  perhaps,  more  fluent-spoken,  Saxon  people 
surrounding  him. 

Among  the  many  different  eyes  fixed  upon  him  now  and 
again,  in  the  crowded  railroad-car,  was  one  pair,  of  dark  lumi- 
nous gray,  that  dwelt  there  longer,  and  returned  oftener,  than 
its  owner  chose  to  have  the  man  of  the  olive  skin  know.  Still, 
he  must  have  felt  the  magnetism  of  those  eyes ;  for,  conversing 
with  this,  disputing  with  that,  and  greeting  the  third  man,  he 
advanced,  slowly  but  surely,  to  where  a  female  figure,  shrouded 
in  sombre  black,  sat  close  by  the  open  window.  There  was 
something  touching  in  the  young  face  that  looked  from  out  the 
heavy  widow's  veil,  which  covered  her  small  hat,  and  almost 
completely  enveloped  the  slender  form.  The  face  was  trans- 
parently pale,  the  faintest  flush  of  pink  tinging  the  cheeks 
when  any  emotion  swayed  the  breast ;  the  lips  were  full,  fresh, 
and  cherry- red  in  color,  and  the  hair,  dark-brown  and  wavy, 
was  brushed  lightly  back  from  the  temples. 

2  13 


14  OVERLAND    TALES. 

The  breeze  at  the  open  window  was  quite  fresh,  for  the 
train  in  its  flight  was  nearing  the  spot  where  the  chill  air  from 
the  ocean  draws  through  the  Salinos  Valley.  Vainly  the 
slender  fingers  tried  to  move  the  obstinate  spring  that  held 
aloft  the  upper  part  of  the  window.  The  color  crept  faintly 
into  the  lady's  cheeks,  for  suddenly  a  hand,  hardly  larger 
than  her's,  though  looking  brown  beside  it,  gently  displaced 
her  fingers  and  lowered  the  window  without  the  least  trouble. 
The  lady's  gloves  had  dropped; 'her  handkerchief  had  flut- 
tered to  the  floor ;  a  small  basket  was  displaced  ;  all  these 
things  were  remedied  and  attended  to  by  the  Spaniard,  who 
had  surely  well-earned  the  thanks  she  graciously  bestowed. 

"  Excuse  me,"  he  said,  with  unmistakable  Spanish  pronun- 
ciation; "but  you  do  not  live  in  our  Valley  —  do  you?" 

"  This  is  my  first  visit,"  she  replied ;  "  but  I  shall  probably 
live  here  for  the  future." 

"  Ah  !  that  makes  me  so  happy,"  he  said,  earnestly,  laying 
his  hand  on  his  heart. 

The  lady  looked  at  him  in  silent  astonishment.  "  Perhaps 
that  is  the  way  of  the  Spanish  people,"  she  said  to  herself. 
"At  any  rate,  h&has  very  fine  eyes,  and  —  it  may  be  tedious 
living  in  Salinos." 

Half  an  hour's  conversation  brought  out  the  fact  that  a 
married  sister's  house  was  to  be  the  home  of  the  lady  for  a 
while ;  that  the  sister  did  not  know  of  her  coming  just  to-day, 
and  that  her  ankle  was  so  badly  sprained  that  walking  was 
very  painful  to  her. 

From  the  other  side  it  was  shown  that  his  home  was  in  the 
neighborhood  of  the  town  ("  one  of  those  wealthy  Spanish 
rancheros,"  she  thought)  ;  that  he  was  slightly  acquainted  with 
her  brother-in-law ;  that  he  was  a  widower,  and  that  his  two 
sons  would  be  at  the  depot  to  receive  him.  These  sons  would 
bring  with  them,  probably,  a  light  spring-wagon  from  the 
ranch,  but  could  easily  be  sent  back  for  the  comfortable  car- 


LA    GRACIOSA.  15 

riage,  if  the  lady  would  allow  him  the  pleasure  of  seeing  her 
safely  under  her  sister's  roof.  She  said  she  would  accept  a 
seat  in  the  spring-wagon,  and  Senor  Don  Pedro  Lopez  with- 
drew, with  a  deep  bow,  to  look  after  his  luggage. 

"Poor  lady!"  he  explained  to  a  group  of  his  inquiring 
friends,  "  poor  lady  !  She  is  deep  in  mourning,  and  she  has 
much  sorrow  in  her  heart."  And  he  left  them  quickly,  to 
assist  his  protege  with  her  wraps.  Then  the  train  came  to  a 
halt,  and  Don  Pedro's  new  acquaintance,  leaning  on  his  arm, 
approached  the  light  vehicle,  at  either  side  of  which  stood  the 
two  sons,  bending  courteously,  in  acknowledgment  of  the 
lady's  greeting.  When  Don  Pedro  himself  was  about  to  mount 
to  the  seat  beside  her,  she  waved  him  back,  with  a  charmingly 
impetuous  motion  of  the  hand.  "  I  am  safe  enough  with  your 
sons,"  she  laughed,  pleasantly.  "  Do  you  stop  at  my  brother- 
in-law's  office,  pray,  and  tell  him  I  have  come." 

Sister  Anna  was  well  pleased  to  greet  the  new  arrival  — 
"  without  an  attachment."  Her  sister  Nora's  "  unhappy  mar- 
riage "  had  been  a  source  of  constant  trouble  and  worry  to 
her ;  and  here  she  came  at  last  —  alone.  Brother-in-law  Ben 
soon  joined  them,  and  Nora's  first  evening  passed  without 
her  growing  seriously  lonesome  or  depressed.  Sister  Anna, 
to  be  sure,  dreaded  the  following  days.  Her  sister's  unhappy 
marriage,  she  confided  to  her  nearest  neighbor,  had.  so  tried 
the  poor  girl's  nerves,  that  she  should  not  wpnder  if  she  sank 
into  a  profound  melancholy.  She  did  all  she  could  to  make 
the  days  pass  pleasantly  ;  but  what  can  you  do  in  a  small  town 
when  you  have  neither  carriage  nor  horses? 

Fortunately,  Don  Pedro  came  to  the  rescue.  He  owned 
many  fine  horses  and  a  number  of  vehicles  —  from  an  airy, 
open  buggy  to  a  comfortably-cushioned  carriage.  He  made 
his  appearance  a  day  or  two  after  Nora's  arrival,  mounted  on 
a  prancing  black  steed,  to  whose  every  step  jingled  and 
clashed  the  heavy  silver-mounted  trappings,  which  the  older 


l6  OVERLAND    TALES. 

Spaniards  are  fond  of  decking  out  their  horses  with.  He 
came  only,  like  a  well-bred  man,  to  inquire  after  the  sprained 
ankle ;  but  before  he  left  he  had  made  an  engagement  to  call 
the  very  next  morning,  with  his  easiest  carriage,  to  take  both 
ladies  out  to  drive. 

And  he  appeared,  punctual  to  the  minute,  sitting  stiffly  in 
the  barouche-built  carriage,  on  the  front  seat  beside  the 
driver,  who,  to  Nora's  unpractised  eye,  seemed  a  full  Indian, 
though  hardly  darker  than  his  master.  True,  the  people  of 
pure  Spanish  descent  did  say  that  this  same  master  had  a  slight 
admixture  of  Indian  blood  in  his  viens,  too;  but. Don  Pedro 
always  denied  it.  He  was  from  Mexico,  he  said,  but  his  pa- 
rents had  come  from  Spain.  However  this  might  be,  Nora 
stood  in  mute  dismay  a  moment,  when  the  outfit  drew  up  at 
the  door ;  and  she  cast  a  questioning  glance  at  her  sister,  even 
after  they  were  seated  in  the  carriage ;  but  Sister  Anna's  eyes 
seemed  repeating  an  old  admonition  to  Nora — "  Be  patient, 
poor  child;  be  still."  And  Nora,  passing  her  hand  across 
her  face,  heeded  the  admonition,  gathered  courage,  and  gave 
herself  up  to  the  perfect  enjoyment  of  the  scene  and  the 
novelty  of  the  expedition. 

It  was  a  late  spring  day  —  the  Valley  still  verdant  with  the 
growing  grain,  the  mountains  mottled  with  spots  of  brown 
where  the  rain  of  the  whole  winter  had  failed  to  make 
good  the  ravages  of  thousands  of  sheep,  or  where,  perhaps, 
a  streak  of  undiscovered  mineral  lay  sleeping  in  the  earth. 
Scant  groups  of  trees  dotted  the  Valley  at  far  intervals,  ranged 
themselves  in  rows  where  a  little  river  ran  at  the  foot  of  the 
Gabilan,  and  stood  in  lonely  grandeur  on  the  highest  ridge 
of  the  mountain.  Where  the  mountain  sloped  it  grew  cov- 
ered with  redwood,  and  where  the  hills  shrank  away  they 
left  a  wide  gap  for  the  ocean  breeze  and  the  ocean  fog  to 
roll  in. 

Across  the  Valley  was  another  mountain,  dark  and  grand, 


LA    GRACIOSA.  I/ 

with  flecks  of  black  growing  chemasal  in  clefts  and  crevices, 
and  sunny  slopes  and  green  fields  lying  at  its  base.  And 
oh  !  the  charm  of  these  mountains.  In  the  Valley  there 
might  be  the  fog  and  the  chill  of  the  North,  but  on  the 
mountains  lay  the  warmth  and  the  dreaminess  of  the  South. 

Keenly  the  dark  eyes  of  the  Spaniard  studied  the  lovely 
face,  flushed,  as  it  seemed,  with  the  pleasure  derived  from  the 
drive  in  the  pure  air  and  the  golden  sunshine. 

"  You  like  our  Valley?"  he  asked,  as  eagerly  as  though  she 
were  a  capitalist  to  whom  he  intended  selling  the  most  worth- 
less portion  of  his  ranch  at  the  highest  possible  figure. 

"  Not  the  Valley  so  much  as  the  mountains,"  she  returned. 
"  We  have  had  fogs  two  days  out  of  the  week  I  have  spent 
here,  and  I  fancy  I  could  escape  that  if  I  could  get  to  the  top 
of  the  mountains." 

"  Ah  !  you  like  the  sunshine  and  the  warm  air.  You  must 
go  farther  South  then  —  far  South.  I  have  thought  a  great 
deal  of  going  there  myself.  There  is  a  beautiful  rancho 
which  I  can  buy  —  you  would  like  it,  I  know,  —  far  down  and 
close  by  the  sea.  And  the  sea  is  so  blue  there  — just  like  the 
heavens.  Oh  !  you  would  like  it,  I  know,  if  you  could  only 
see  it,"  he  concluded,  enthusiastically,  as  though  this  were 
another  ranch  he  was  trying  to  sell  her. 

But  the  thought  of  traffic  or  gain  was  very  far  from  his 
heart  just  then,  though  Don  Pedro  was  known  to  be  an  excep- 
tionally good  business  man  and  a  close  financier.  Many  of 
his  Spanish  compeers  looked  up  to  him  with  a  certain  awe  on 
this  account.  Most  of  them  had  parted  with  their  b?&jfi 
acres,  their  countless  herds,  all  too  easily,  to  gratify  their  taste 
for  lavish  display  and  easy  living,  with  its  attendant  cost 
under  the  new  American  regime  ;  or  had  lost  them  through 
confiding,  with  their  generous  heart,  their  guileless  nature,  to 
the  people  whose  thoughts  were  bent  on  securing,  by  usury 
and  knaves'  tricks,  the  possessions  of  the  very  men  whose  hos- 
2*  B 


IS  OVERLAND    TALES. 

pitable  roof  afforded  them  shelter.  "  He  can  cope  with  any 
American,"  they  would  say,  proudly,  speaking  of  Don  Pedro  ; 
and  Don  Pedro  would  show  his  appreciation  of  the  compli- 
ment by  exercising  his  business  qualifications  towards  them, 
as  well  as  towards  "  los  Americanos." 

But  the  haughty  Don  was  well-mannered  and  agreeable ; 
and  after  securing  from  Nora  an  indefinite  promise  that  she 
would  some  time,  when  her  ankle  got  strong,  ride  his  own 
saddle-horse,  he  left  the  ladies  safely  at  their  door  and  retired, 
his  heart  and  brain  filled  with  a  thousand  happy  dreams.  He 
had  only  once  during  the  ride  pointed  carelessly  across  the 
valley  to  where  his  ranch  lay ;  but  Nora  had  gained  no  defi- 
nite idea  of  its  extent. 

One  pleasant  afternoon  the  two  sons  of  Don  Pedro  stopped 
at  the  door.  Their  father  had  encouraged  them  to  call,  they 
said ;  perhaps  the  lady  and  her  sister  would  bestow  upon  them 
the  honor  of  driving  out  with  them  for  an  hour.  Both  lads 
spoke  English  with  elegance  and  fluency  (let  the  good  fathers 
of  the  Santa  Clara  College  alone  for  that),  but  among  them- 
selves their  mother-tongue  still  asserted  itself;  and  in  their 
behavior  a  touch  of  the  Spanish  punctilio  distinguished  them 
favorably  from  the  uncouth  flippancy  of  some  of  their  young 
American  neighbors. 

Nora  cheerfully  assented,  and  in  a  few  minutes  the  whole 
party  was  bowling  along, —  t'he  eldest  brother  driving,  the 
younger  explaining  and  describing  the  country  and  its  pecu- 
liarities. Pablo  and  Roberto  had  both  been  born  on  their 
ranch,  though  not  in  the  large  white  house  they  saw  in  the  dis- 
tance. That  had  been  finished  only  a  little  while  when  their 
mother  died.  The  adobe  which  had  been  their  birthplace  stood 
several  miles  farther  back,  and  could  not  be  seen  from  here. 

"  It  is  not  on  this  ranch,  then  ?"  queried  Nora. 

"  Pardon,  yes ;  on  this  ranch,  but  several  miles  nearer 
the  foothills;  in  that  direction  —  there," 


LA    GRACIOSA.  IQ 

"And  is  the  land  we  are  passing  over  all  one  ranch?" 
Nora  continued,  persistently. 

"  We  have  been  driving  over  our  own  land  almost  since  we 
left  town,"  replied  Pablo,  a  little  proudly.  "  San  Jacinto  is 
one  of  the  largest  ranches  in  the  county,  and  the  Americans 
have  not  yet  succeeded  in  cutting  it  up  into  building-lots  and 
homestead  blocks,"  he  added,  laughing  a  frank,  boyish  laugh, 
which  seemed  to  say,  "  you  are  as  one  of  us,  and  will  not  take 
it  amiss." 

Sister  Anna  looked  stealthily  at  Nora,  but  her  eyes,  with  a 
strange  light  in  them,  were  fixed  on  the  horizon,  far  off,  where 
they  seemed  to  read  something  that  made  her  brow  contract 
and  lower  a  little  while,  and  then  clear  off,  as,  with  an  effort, 
she  turned  to  the  boy  and  brought  up  some  other  topic  of 
conversation.  But  her  heart  was  not  in  what  she  said,  and 
Sister  Anna  exerted  herself  to  cover  the  deficiences  that 
Nora's  drooping  spirits  left  in  the  entertainment. 

It  was  sunset  when  they  reached  home,  and  standing  on  the 
rose-covered  veranda  of  the  little  cottage  a  moment,  Nora 
looked  across  to  where  the  lingering  gleams  of  the  sun  were 
kissing  the  black-looming  crown  of  the  Loma  Prieta,  with 
floods  of  pink  and  soft  violet,  and  covering  all  its  base  with 
shades  of  dark  purple  and  heavy  gray.  She  raised  her  clasped 
hands  to  the  mountain  top. 

"  How  glad,  how  thankful  I  could  be,  if  from  the  wreck 
and  the  ruins  I  could  gather  light  and  warmth  enough  to 
cover  my  past  life  and  its  miseries,  as  the  pink  and  the  purple 
of  the  sunset  cover  the  black  dreariness  of  yon  mountain." 

"Come  in,  Nora,  it  is  getting  cold,"  interrupted  Sister 
Anna;  "  or  the  next  thing  after  having  your  nerves  wrought 
up  so  will  be  a  fit  of  hysterics." 

"Which,  you  will  say,  is  one  more  of  the  bad  effects  of 
Nora's  unhappy  marriage." 

If  Nora's  wilfulness  and  Nora's  unhappy  marriage  had  been 


20  OVERLAND    TALES. 

ever  so  deeply  deplored  by  her,  the  loss  of  Sister  Anna's  love, 
or  Anna's  sisterly  kindness,  could  not  be  counted  among  its 
many  bad  effects.  Brother-in-law  Ben,  too,  was  whole-souled 
d*nd  affectionate ;  more  practical,  and  a  trifle  more  far-seeing 
than  Anna;  but  he  never  said,  "  I  told  you  so."  He  quietly 
did  all  he  could  to  bind  up  bleeding  wounds. 

It  soon  came  to  be  looked  upon  as  quite  a  matter  of  course 
that  Don  Pedro  should  be  seen  in  his  carriage  with  the  two 
sisters ;  or,  that  his  black  steed  should  be  led  up  and  down 
before  the  cottage  door,  by  one  of  his  servants,  dark  of  skin, 
fiery-eyed,  and  of  quiet  demeanor,  like  his  master.  Then, 
again,  the  sons  were  seen  at  the  cottage,  always  courteous,  at- 
tentive, and  scrupulously  polite.  If  in  the  privacy  of  their 
most  secret  communings  the  "Gringa"  was  ever  spoken  of 
as  the  Gringa,  it  was  only  in  the  strictest  privacy.  Neither 
to  Nora,  nor  to  any  of  their  servants,  did  ever  look  or  word 
betray  but  that  in  the  fair  young  American  they  saw  all  that 
their  widowed  father  desired  they  should  see. 

The  retinue  of  the  Whitehead  family  consisted  of  but  a 
single  Chinaman,  who  was  cook,  laundress,  maid-of-all-work ; 
but  during  Nora's  stay  she  was  never  aware  but  that  she  had 
half-a-dozen  slaves  to  do  her  bidding,  so  careful,  yet  so  deli- 
cate was  Don  Pedro  in  bestowing  his  attentions.  He  soon 
hovered  about  the  whole  family  like  one  of  the  genii.  If 
Nora  just  breathed  to  herself,  "How  pleasant  the  day  is  — 
if  we  only  had  carriage  and  horses" — before  the  hour  was 
over  the  Don,  with  his  carriage,  or  Don  Pedro's  boys,  or  an 
invitation  to  ride  from  the  Don,  was  at  hand.  Before  she  had 
quite  concluded  that  fruits  were  not  so  abundant  or  fine  in  the 
country  as  in  the  city  markets,  the  Don  had  contracted  a 
pleasant  habit  of  sending  his  servants  with  the  choicest  of  all 
his  fields  and  store-houses  contained  to  the  little  cottage  in 
town.  Fish,  fresh  from  the  Bay  of  Monterey,  and  game,  that 
plain  and  mountain  afforded,  came  in  the  run  of  time,  quite 


LA    GRACIOSA.  21 

as  a  matter  of  course,  to  the  kitchen  and  larder  of  Don  Pedro's 
dear  friend  Whitehead.  It  was  not  to  be  refused.  Don  Pe- 
dro had  a  hundred  points  of  law  that  he  wished  explained ; 
had  so  much  advice  to  ask  in  regard  to  some  tracts  of  land  he 
meant  to  purchase,  that  Brother-in-law  Ben  always  seemed  the 
one  conferring  the  greatest  favor. 

It  was  a  little  singular,  too,  this  friendship  of  the  Don's  for 
Lawyer  Whitehead.  As  a  general  thing,  the  Spanish  popula- 
tion of  California  look  upon  our  lawyers  with  distrust,  and 
have  a  wholesome  horror  of  the  law.  Don  Pedro,  though 
liberal-minded  and  enlightened,  was  not  backward  in  express- 
ing the  contempt  he  felt  for  many  of  our  American  views  and 
opinions  j  but  above  all  he  abominated  our  most  popular 
institution  —  the  Divorce  Court.  Not  as  a  Catholic  only,  was 
it  an  abomination  to  him,  he  said.  He  had  often  declared 
to  see  a  divorced  woman  gave  him  the  same  shuddering  sen- 
sation that  was  caused  by  looking  upon  a  poisonous  snake. 

When  her  ankle  had  grown  quite  strong,  Don  Pedro  solic- 
ited for  Rosa  the  honor  of  carrying  Nora  for  a  short  ride 
through  the  country.  And  Nora,  mounted  high  on  the 
shapely  animal's  back,  had  seemed  in  such  pleasant  mood 
when  they  left  her  sister's  door,  that  she  quite  bewildered  her 
escort  by  the  sudden  sharp  tone  with  which  she  replied  to  the 
question  he  asked  :  what  feature  she  admired  most  in  the  land- 
scape before  them  ? 

"  Those  many  little  lakes,"  she  said.  "  They  have  an  en- 
ticing look  of  quiet  and  rest,  and  hold  out  a  standing  invi- 
tation to  '  come  and  get  drowned,'  to  weary  mortals  like  my- 
self." 

He  was  too  delicate  to  allow  his  shocked  glance  to  rise  to 
her  face,  but  to  himself  he  repeated,  "  Poor  lady !  she  has 
much  sorrow  in  her  heart,"  and  aloud  he  said  : 

"You  are  homesick,  Leonora?"  How  much  prettier  it 
seemed  to  hear  the  sonorous  voice  frame  the  word  "  Leo- 


22  OVERLAND    TALES. 

nora,"  than  the  stiff  appellation  of  "  Mrs.  Rutherford,"  which 
the  Don  could  hardly  ever  bring  himself  to  utter.  It  was  so 
long,  he  excused  himself,  and  not  the  custom  of  his  country 
though,  in  direct  contradiction  to  the  first  part  of  the  ex- 
cuse, he  would  slyly  smuggle  in  an  addition  —  Blanca,  Gra- 
ciosa,  Querida — trusting  for  safety  in  her  lack  of  acquaintance 
with  the  Spanish  tongue. 

"No,"  she  answered  honestly  to  his  question,  "I  have 
no  place  to  be  homesick  for.  I  am  glad  to  be  here;  but — " 

"Ah !  but  you  must  see  the  Southern  country  first,"  he  in- 
terrupted, eagerly.  "Lam  going  South  this  winter  to  pur- 
chase a  ranch,  on  which  I  shall  make  my  home.  I  leave  this 
ranch  here  to  my  two  boys.  Their  mother  died  here,  and 
the  ranch  will  be  theirs.  But  my  ranch  in  the  South  will  be 
very  fine;  the  land  is  so  fair  —  like  a  beautiful  woman, 
almost." 

"  I  shall  miss  you,  if  you  leave  us ;  particularly  through  the 
rainy  winter  months,"  she- said. 

"  How  happy  that  makes  me  !  "  he  exclaimed,  as  once  be- 
fore ;  and  he  did  now  what  had  been  in  his  heart  to  do  then 
• — he  bent  over  her  hand  and  kissed  it  warmly,  heedless  of 
the  swarthy  Mexican  who  rode  behind  his  master. 

All  through  the  summer,  with  its  dust  and  its  fog  and  its 
glaring  sun,  did  Don  Pedro  still  find  a  pleasant  hour,  early 
after  the  fog  had  risen,  or  late  after  the  sun  had  set,  to  spend, 
on  horseback  or  in  carriage,  with  "  the  one  fair  woman  "  who 
seemed  to  fill  his  whole  heart.  Sometimes,  when  returning 
from  an  expedition  on  which  Sister  Anna  had  not  accom- 
panied them,  she  would  greet  them  on  the  veranda  with 
uneasy,  furtive  eyes ;  and  the  Don,  blind  to  everything  but 
his  passion  for  Nora,  still  did  not  observe  the  impatient 
answering  glance. 

Don  Pedro  was  delicacy  and  chivalry  itself.  Bending  low 
over  her  white  fingers  one  day,  he  asked,  "  And  how  long 


LA    GRACIOSA.  2$ 

was  Mr.  Rutherford  blessed  with  the  possession  of  this  most 
sweet  hand  ?" 

"I  was  married  but  a  year,"  she  answered,  with  her  teeth 
set,  and  quickly  drawing  back  her  hand. 

On  reaching  home  she  reported  to  her  sister.  "Aha,"  she 
commented,  "he  wants  to  know  how  long  you  have  been  a 
widow,  and  whether  it  is  too  soon  to  make  more  decided 
proposals. ' ' 

Then  came  the  early  rains,  and  for  Nora  fits  of  passionate 
crying,  alternating  with  fits  of  gloomy  depression.  Don  Pe- 
dro was  in  despair.  Her  varying  moods  did  not  escape  him, 
and  when,  to  crown  all,  her  ankle,  still  weak  from  the  sprain, 
began  to  swell  with  rheumatism,  she  took  no  pains  to  hide 
her  fretfulness  or  sadness  either  from  her  sister  Anna  or  the 
Don.  In  the  midst  of  the  gloom  and  the  rain  came  Don 
Pedro  one  day  to  announce  that  he  was  about  to  set  out  for 
the  South,  to  conclude  the  purchase  of  the  ranch  he  had  so 
long  spoken  of. 

"And  you  are  going,  too?"  she  said,  lugubriously. 

"I  beg  you  to  give  me  permission  to  go.  I  am  the  slave 
of  Leonora,  La  Graciosa,  and  will  return  soon.  I  will  not 
go,  if  you  grant  me  not  permission  ;  but  I  beg  you  let  me  go 
for  a  short  time."  He  had  sunk  on  his  knees  by  the  couch 
on  which  she  rested,  and  his  eyes  flashed  fire  into  hers  for  a 
brief  moment ;  but  he  conquered  himself,  and  veiled  them 
under  their  heavy  lashes.  "Let  me  go,"  he  pleaded,  humbly, 
"  and*  give  me  permission  to  return  to  you,  Leonora.  In  my 
absence  my  sons  will  do  all  your  bidding.  They  know  the 
will  of  their  father." 

Nora  had  extended  her  hand,  and  motioned  him  to  a  chair 
beside  her  couch,  and  listened  with  a  smile  on  her  lips  to  all 
the  arrangements  he  had  made  for  her  comfort  during  his 
absence. 

"  Since  I  have  allowed  you  your  own  way  in  everything,  I 


24  OVERLA ND    TALES. 

must  have  mine  in  one  particular.  Of  course,  you  will  take 
a  saddle-horse  for  yourself  besides  the  spring-wagon.  Now 
you  shall  not  leave  Rosa  here  for  me,  but  shall  take  her  along 
for  your  own  use.  It  is  absurd  for  you  to  insist  that  no  one 
shall  use  her  since  I  have  ridden  her ;  I  shall  not  keep  her 
here  while  you  are  struggling  over  heavy  roads,  in  the  wagon, 
or  on  some  other  horse," 

It  was,  perhaps,  the  longest  speech  she  had  ever  made  to 
him,  and  it  was  all  about  himself  too,  and  full  of  considera- 
tion for  him  —  oh  !  it  was  delicious.  With  fervent  gratitude 
he  kissed  her  hand,  called  her  Preciosa,  Banita,  till  she  de- 
clared that  he  should  not  say  hard  things  of  her  in  Spanish 
any  more.  He  desisted  for  the  time,  on  her  promise  that  she 
would  try  to  be  cheerful  while  he  was  away,  and  not  get  home- 
sick, unless  it  were  for  him ;  and  they  became  quite  gay  and 
sociable  over  a  cup  of  tea  which  Sister  Anna  brought  them 
into  the  sitting-room  —  so  sociable,  that  Nora  said  of  the 
Don,  after  his  departure : 

"  If  any  one  were  to  tell  me  that  a  church-steeple  could 
unbend  sufficiently  to  roll  ten-pins  of  a  Sunday  afternoon,  I 
should  believe  it  after  this." 

But  in  a  little  while  the  fits  of  dejection  and  the  fits  of 
crying  came  back  again.  Sister  Anna  did  her  best  to  break 
them  up ;  she  rallied  her  on  breaking  her  heart  for  the  absent 
Don ;  she  tried  to  interest  her  in  her  surroundings,  so  that  she 
should  see  the  sungleams  that  flashed  through  the  winter's 
gloom. 

"  See  this  beautiful  cala  that  has  just  opened  in  the  garden," 
she  would  say,  with  an  abortive  attempt  at  making  her  believe 
that  her  ankle  was  strong  and  well. 

"I  cannot  get  up,  miserable  creature  that  I  am,"  came 
back  the  dismal  response. 

"  Oh,  that  lovely  cloth-of-gold  has  grown  a  shoot  full  half 
a  yard  long  since  yesterday;  come  and  see." 


LA    GRACIOSA.  2$ 

"I  cannot." 

"Yes,  you  can;  come  lean  on  me.  Now,  isn't  this  sun* 
shine  delightful  for  December?  " 

Nora  drew  a  deep  breath ;  after  a  week's  steady  rain,  the 
sky  was  clear  as  crystal,  and  the  sun  laughed  down  on  hill 
and  valley,  blossoming  rose  and  budding  bush. 

"  See  how  the  violets  are  covered  with  blue,  and  the  honey- 
suckle has  just  reached  the  farthest  end  of  the  porch.  Oh, 
Nora,  how  can  any  one  be  unhappy  with  flowers  to  tend, 
and  a  home  to  keep?  " 

"Ah!  yes.  You  are  right,  sister;  but  it  is  your  home  — 
not  mine." 

Anna  laid  her  arm  around  her  as  though  to  support  her. 
She  knew  her  sister's  proud  spirit  and  yearning  heart,  and 
she  only  whispered,  as  she  had  so  often  done,  "  Be  patient, 
poor  child  ;  be  still." 

But  that  short,  passionate  plaint  had  lightened  Nora's  heart; 
after  a  week's  sunshine  the  roads  were  dry  enough  to  ride  out 
once  more  with  Don  Pedro's  sons,  and  when  steady  rain  set 
in  once  more  after  that,  she  tried  to  show  her  sister  that  she 
could  take  an  interest  in  "home" — though  it  was  not  her 
own. 

A  month  had  worn  away,  and  as  long  as  the  weather  per- 
mitted the  regular  running  of  the  mails,  Pablo  and  Roberto 
brought  greetings  from  their  father  once  a  week ;  but  when 
the  roads  grew  impassable,  they  too  were  left  without  news. 
Not  an  iota  did  they  fail  of  their  attention  to  Nora,  however ; 
whatever  dainties  the  ranch  afforded  were  still  laid  at  her  feet, 
or  rather  on  her  sister's  kitchen  table ;  and  the  roads  were 
never  so  bad  but  that  they  paid  their  respects  at  least  twice  a 
week/ 

"  You  have  no  cause  to  complain,"  said  Sister  Anna. 

"No,"  replied  Nora,  with  a  yawn;   "but  I  wish  the  Don 
would  come  back." 
3 


26  OVERLAND    TALES. 

And  he  did  come  back. 

"I  am  so  glad  you  have  come,"  she  said,  frankly,  meet- 
ing him  on  the  threshold. 

"I  can  read  it  in  your  eyes,"  he  exclaimed,  rapturously. 
"Oh,  how  happy  that  makes  me!"  And  if  Sister  Anna's 
head  had  not  appeared  behind  Nora's  shoulder,  there  is  no 
telling  what  might  have  happened. 

He  had  brought  the  spring  with  him ;  mountain  and  valley 
both  had  clothed  itself  in  brightest  green,  in  which  the  bare 
brown  spots  on  the  Gabilan  Range  were  really  a  relief  to  the 
satiated  eye.  In  the  deep  clefts  of  the  Loma  Prieta  lay  the 
blackish  shade  of  the  chemasal,  and  only  one  degree  less 
sombre  appeared  the  foliage  of  the  live-oak  against  the  tender 
green  of  the  fresh  grass.  Again  did  Nora  all  day  long  watch 
the  sun  lying  on  the  mountains  —  a  clear  golden  haze  in  the 
daytime ;  pink  and  violet,  and  purplish  gray  in  the  evening 
mist. 

"Is  it  not  beautiful?"  she  asked  of  Brother-in-law  Ben, 
one  evening,  as  he  came  up  the  street  and  entered  the  gate. 

"You  are  just  growing  to  like  our  Valley,  I  see  ;  it  is  a  pity 
that  you  should  now  be  'borne  away  to  foreign  climes.'  " 

"And  who  's  to  bear  me  away?  "  she  asked,  laughing,  as 
they  entered  the  house. 

"  Let  me  call  Anna,"  he  said;  "  we  will  have  to  hold  family 
council  over  this." 

In  council  he  commenced  :  "  Don  Pedro  has  this  day  re- 
quested that  I,  his  legal  adviser,  go  South  with  him,  to  see 
that  all  papers  are  properly  made  out,  all  preliminaries  settled, 
before  he  fairly  takes  possession  of  his  land." 

"  Well?  "  queried  Anna. 

"Well,  my  dear,  so  much  for  his  counsellor  Whitehead. 
But  to  his  friend  Benjamin's  family  he  has  extended  an  invi- 
tation to  accompany  us  on  this  trip,  presuming  that  his  friend's 
wife  and  sister-in-law  would  be  pleased  to  see  this  much-praised 
Southern  country." 


LA    GRACIOSA.  2/ 

"We  '11  go,  of  course,"  assented  Anna,  artlessly. 

"Certainly,  my  dear  —  of  course;"  affirmed  easy-going 
Ben.  "  But,  my  dear,  I  hope  you  both  understand  all  the 
bearings  of  this  case." 

Nora's  head  drooped,  and  a  flush  of  pain  overspread  her 
face,  as  she  answered,  chokingly,  "  I  do." 

"Then,  my  dear,  since  Don  Pedro  has  never  mentioned 
Nora's  name  to  me,  except  to  send  message  or  remembrance, 
had  I  not  better  tell  him — " 

"No,  no!"  cried  Nora,  in  sudden  terror.  "Oh,  please 
not ;  leave  it  all  to  me. ' ' 

"Certainly,  Mrs.  Rutherford,"  he  assented,  still  more 
slowly;  "I  am  not  the  man  to  meddle  with  other  people's 
affairs  —  unasked,"  he  added,  remembering,  perhaps,  his 
business  and  calling. 

"  Don't  be  angry  with  me,  Ben,"  she  pleaded  ;  "  you  have 
always  been  so  kind  to  me.  What  should  I  have  done  with- 
out you  two  ?  But  you  know  how  I  feel  about  this  —  this 
miserable  affair." 

"  All  right,  child,"  he  said,  pressing  her  hand.  "  I  should 
like  to  give  you  a  piece  of  advice,  but  my  lawyer's  instinct 
tells  me  that  you  will  not  take  it,  so  that  I  am  compelled  to 
keep  my  mouth  shut  —  emphatically." 

They  set  out  on  their  Southern  trip,  a  grand  cavalcade ; 
Don  Pedro  on  a  charger  a  little  taller,  a  little  blacker  than 
Nora's  horse ;  in  the  light  wagon  Anna  and  her  husband,  and 
behind  them  a  heavier  wagon  containing  all  that  a  leisurely 
journey  through  a  thinly  populated  country  made  desirable. 
For  attendance  they  had  Domingi,  the  Don's  favorite  servant, 
two  vaqueros,  and  an  under-servant,  all  mounted  on  hardy 
mustangs.  Never  did  picnic  party,  intent  on  a  day's  pleasur- 
ing, leave  home  in  higher  spirits.  The  fresh  morning  air 
brought  the  color  to  Nora's  cheeks,  and  her  musical  laugh 
rang  out  through  the  Valley ;  and  when  they  passed  one  of  the 


28  OVERLAND    TALES. 

little  lakes,  all  placid  and  glistening  in  the  bright  sun,  Nora 
turned  to  her  companion  with  a  smile  :  "  I  don't  think  those 
lakes  were  meant  to  drown  one's  self  in,  at  all ;  they  were 
made  to  cast  reflections.  See?  "  and  she  pointed  to  herself, 
graceful  and  erect,  mirrored  in  the  clear  water. 

"Oh,  Graciosa,"  murmured  the  Spaniard. 

How  bright  the  world  looked,  to  be  sure ;  flowers  covered 
the  earth,  not  scattered  in  niggardly  manner,  as  in  the  older, 
colder  Eastern  States,  but  covering  the  ground  for  miles,  show- 
ing nothing  but  a  sea  of  blue,  an  ocean  of  crimson,  or  a 
wilderness  of  yellow.  Then  came  patches  where  all  shades 
and  colors  were  mixed  ;  delicate  tints  of  pink  and  mauve,  of 
pure  white  and  deep  red,  and  over  all  floated  a  fragrance  that 
was  never  equalled  by  garden-flowers  or  their  distilled  per- 
fume. 

When  twilight  fell,  and  Don  Pedro  informed  them  that  they 
would  spend  the  night  under  the  hospitable  roof  of  his  friend, 
Don  Pamfilio  Rodriguez,  Nora  was  almost  sorry  that,  for  the 
complete  "romance  of  the  thing,"  they  could  not  camp  out. 

"We  will  come  to  that,  too,"  the  Don  consoled  her,  "be- 
fore the  journey  is  over.  But  my  friend  would  never  forgive 
me,  if  I  passed  his  door  and  did  not  enter." 

"But  so  many  of  us,"  urged  Nora,  regarding,  if  the  truth 
must  be  told,  the  small  low-roofed  adobe  house  with  consid- 
erable disfavor. 

"  There  would  be  room  in  my  friend's  house  for  my  friends 
and  myself,  even  though  my  friend  himself  should  lie  across 
the  threshold." 

Nora  bowed  her  head.  She  knew  of  the  proverbial  hospi- 
tality of  the  Spanish  —  a  hospitality  that  led  them  to  impov- 
erish themselves  for  the  sake  of  becomingly  entertaining  their 
guests. 

Of  course,  only  Don  Pedro  could  lift  Nora  from  her  horse ; 
but  Sister  Anna  found  herself  in  the  hands  of  the  host,  who 


LA    GRACIOSA.  2$ 

conducted  her,  with  the  air  of  a  prince  escorting  a  duchess,  to 
the  threshold,  where  his  wife,  Donna  Cartnel,  and  another 
aged  lady,  received  them.  Conversation  was  necessarily 
limited  —  neither  Don  Pamfilio  nor  Donna  Carmel  speaking 
English,  and  Brother  Ben  alone  being  conversant  with 
Spanish. 

The  ladies  were  shown  into  a  low,  clean-swept  room,  in 
which  a  bed,  draped  and  trimmed  with  a  profusion  of  Spanish 
needlework  and  soft  red  calico,  took  up  the  most  space. 
Chairs  ranged  along  one'wall,  and  a  gay-colored  print  of  Saint 
Mary  of  the  Sacred  Heart,  over  the  fire-place,  completed  the 
furnishing.  Nora  pleasantly  returned  the  salutation  of  the 
black-bearded  man  who  entered  with  coals  of  fire  on  a  big 
garden-spade.  Directly  after  him  came  a  woman,  with  a 
shawl  over  her  head  and  fire-wood  in  her  arms.  She,  too, 
offered  the  respectful  "  buenos  dias,"  and  she  had  hardly  left 
when  a  small  girl  entered,  with  a  broken-nosed  pitcher  con- 
taining hot-water,  and  after  her  came  another  dark-faced  man, 
the  mayordomo,  with  a  tray  of  refreshments  and  inquiries  as 
to  whether  the  ladies  were  comfortable. 

Nora  dropped  her  arms  by  her  side.  "  I  have  counted  four 
servants  now,  and  Don  Pedro  told  me  particularly  that  his 
friend,  Pam  —  what's-his-name  —  was  very  poor." 

"Spanish  style,"  answered  Anna,  with  a  shrug  of  the 
shoulder.  "  But  it  is  very  comfortable.  How  cold  it  has 
grown  out-doors,  and  how  dark  it  is.  I  wonder  if  we  shall  be 
afraid  ? ' ' 

"Hush!  Don't  make  me  nervous,"  cried  Nora,  sharply, 
shivering  with  the  sudden  terror  that  sometimes  came  over 
her. 

"  Be  still,"  said  Anna,  soothingly;  "  there  is  nothing  to  be 
afraid  of  here." 

After  a  while  they  were  called  to  supper,  where,  to  their 
surprise,  they  found  quite  a  little  gathering.  Neighbors  who 
3* 


3O  OVERLAND    TALES. 

spoke  English  had  been  summoned  to  entertain  them,  and 
after  supper,  which  was  a  marvel  of  dishes,  in  which  onions, 
sugar,  raisins,  and  red  pepper  were  softly  blended,  and  which 
was  served  by  three  more  servants,  they  got  up  an  impromptu, 
concert,  on  three  guitars,  and  later  an  impromptu  ball,  at 
which  Nora  chiefly  danced  with  the  Don. 

In  spite  of  the  biting  cold  next  morning,  all  the  male  mem- 
bers of  last  night's  company  insisted  on  escorting  our  friends 
over  the  first  few  miles  of  the  road.  They  came  to  a  stream 
which  they  must  cross,  and  of  which  Don  Pamfilio  had  warned 
them,  and  the  Don  insisted  on  Nora's  getting  into  the  wagon 
with  her  sister.  The  vaqueros  with  their  horses  were  brought 
into  requisition,  and  Nora  opened  her  eyes  wide  when,  dash- 
ing up,  they  fastened  their  long  riattas  to  the  tongue  of  the 
wagon,  wound  the  end  of  the  rope  around  the  horn  of  the 
saddle,  and  with  this  improvised  four-horse  team  got  up  the 
steep  bank  on  the  other  side  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye. 

Reaching  San  Luis  Obispo  directly,  they  delayed  one  whole 
day,  as  Nora  expressed  herself  charmed  with  what  she  saw  of 
the  old  mission  church,  and  what  remained  of  the  old  mission 
garden.  A  group  of  fig-trees  here  and  there,  a  palm-tree  sadly 
out  of  place,  in  a  dirty,  dusty  yard,  an  agave  standing  stiff  and 
reserved  among  its  upstart  neighbors,  the  pea-vine  and  potato. 

"  Oh  !  it  is  pitiful,"  cried  Nora,  hardly  aware  of  the  quo- 
tation. "Even  this  proud  avenue  of  olives,  towering  so  high 
above  all,  has  been  cut  up  and  laid  out  in  building-lots." 

"The  advance  of  civilization,"  Brother  Ben  informed  her; 
and,  in  reply,  Nora  pointed  silently  into  a  yard,  where  a  half- 
grown  palm-tree  stood  among  heaps  of  refuse  cigar-ends  and 
broken  bottles.  The' house  to  which  the  yard  belonged  was 
occupied  as  a  bar-room,  and  one  of  its  patrons,  a  son  of  Old 
Erin,  to  all  appearances,  lay  stretched  near  the  palm,  sleeping 
off  the  fumes  of  the  liquor  imbibed  at  the  bar. 

They  laughed  at  Nora's  illustration,  and  decided  to  move 


LA    GRACIOSA.  3! 

from  so  untoward  a  spot  that  very  afternoon,  even  if  they 
should  have  to  use  their  tent  and  camp  out  all  night. 

More  flowers,  and  brighter  they  grew  as  our  friend  trav- 
elled farther  South.  On  the  plain  the  meadow-lark  sang  its 
song  in  the  dew  and  the  chill  of  the  morning,  and  high  on  the 
mountain,  in  the  still  noonday,  the  lone  cry  of  the  hawk 
came  down  from  where  the  bird  lived  in  solidary  grandeur. 
Wherever  our  friends  went  they  were  made  welcome.  Not 
a  Spanish  house  dare  the  Don  pass  without  stopping,  at  least 
for  refreshments.  He  had  compadres  and  comadres  every- 
where, and  whether  they  approved  of  his  intimate  relations 
with  the  "Gringas"  or  not,  they  showed  always  the  greatest 
respect,  extended  always  the  most  cheerful  hospitality. 

At  last  they  approached  Santa  Barbara,  its  white,  sun-kissed 
mission  gleaming  below  them  in  the  valley  as  they  descended 
the  Santa  Inez  Mountains.  Stately  business  houses  and  lovely 
country-seats,  hidden  in  trees  and  vines — the  wide  sea  guard- 
ing all.  But  they  tarried  not.  Don  Pedro  announced  that 
he  had  promised  to  make  a  stay  of  several  weeks  at  his  par- 
ticular friend's,  Don  Enrico  del  Gada.  He  was  proud  to 
introduce  them  to  this  family,  he  said.  They  would  become 
acquainted  with  true  Castilians  —  would  be  witness  to  how 
Spanish  people  lived  in  the  Southern  country;  rich  people — • 
that  is — .  They  had  always  been  rich,  but  through  some  mis- 
management (through  the  knavery  of  some  American,  Nora 
interpreted  it),  they  were  greatly  in  danger  of  losing  their 
whole  estate.  A  small  portion  of  their  rancho  had  been  sold 
to  a  company  of  land-speculators,  and  now  they  were  trying 
to  float  the  title  to  this  portion  over  the  whole  of  the  Tappa 
Rancho. 

"  Pure  Castilian  blood,"  the  Don  affirmed  ;  "  fair  of  skin, 
hair  lighter  than  Nora's  tresses,  and  eyes  blue  as  the  sky. 
Such  the  male  part  of  the  family.  The  female  portion  — 
mother  and  daughter  —  were  black-eyed,  and  just  a  trifle 


32  OVERLAND    TALES. 

darker;  but  beauties,  both.  The  daughter,  Narcissa  (Nora 
fancied  that  a  sudden  twinge  distorted  the  Don's  features  as 
he  spoke  the  name),  was  lovely  and  an  angel;  not  very 
strong,  though  —  a  little  weak  in  the  chest." 

All  the  evening  the  De  Gadas  formed  the  subject  of  conver- 
sation, so  that  it  is  hardly  surprising  that  morning  found  Nora 
arrayed  with  more  care  than  usual,  if  possible,  and  looking 
handsome  enough  to  gratify  the  heart  of  the  most  fastidious 
lover. 

A  two  hours'  ride  brought  them  to  the  immediate  enclosure 
of  the  comfortable  ranch  house,  and  with  a  sonorous  "  buenos 
dias  caballeros .' ' '  the  Don  had  led  his  party  into  the  midst 
of  a  ring  formed  by  the  host,  his  son,  and  other  invited 
guests.  Some  of  them  had  just  dismounted,  and  the  spurs 
were  still  on  their  boots ;  some  had  red  silk  scarfs  tied  grace- 
fully around  the  hips,  and  all  were  handsome,  chivalrous, 
picturesque -looking  men.  Don  Enrico  advanced  to  assist 
Anna,  while  Don  Manuel,  his  son,  strode  toward  Leonora's 
horse  and  had  lifted  her  from  the  saddle  before  Don  Pedro 
could  tell  what  he  was  about.  Such  clear  blue  eyes  as  he 
had  !  All  the  sunshine  of  his  native  Spain  seemed  caught  in 
them  ;  and  his  hand  was  so  white  !  Nora's  own  could  hardly 
vie  with  it. 

His  head  was  uncovered  when  he  conducted  her  to  the 
veranda,  where  the  ladies  were  assembled.  His  mother,  a 
beauty'still,  dark-eyed,  full-throated,  and  with  the  haughty  look 
and  turn  of  the  head  that  is  found  among  the  Spanish  people ; 
the  sister  a  delicate,  slender  being,  large-eyed,  with  hectic, 
roses  on  her  cheeks.  Nora  detected  a  strange  glimmer  in  her 
eye  and  a  convulsive  movement  of  the  lips  as  she  addressed 
a  question  in  a  low  tone  to  her  brother,  after  the  formal  intro- 
duction was  over. 

"You  must  excuse  my  sister,"  he  apologized  to  Nora,  "she 
speaks  no  English.  She  wanted  to  know  whether  you  had 


LA    GR  AGIOS  A.  33 

ridden  Rosa.  Long  ago  she  tried  to  ride  the  horse,  but  could 
not,  as  she  is  not  strong.  When  Don  Pedro  was  here  last  she 
wanted  to  try  again ;  but  he  would  not  consent.  I  suppose 
she  is  astonished  at  your  prowess." 

Nora  watched  the  darkened,  uneasy  eyes  of  the  girl ;  she 
thought  she  knew  better  than  the  unsuspecting  brother  what 
had  prompted  the  question. 

The  Del  Gada  family,  their  house,  their  style  of  living, 
was  all  the  Don  had  claimed  for  them.  The  first  day  or  two 
were  devoted  mainly  to  out-of-door  entertainments;  the  orange- 
groves,  the  vineyards,  the  almond-plantation  on  the  ranch 
were  visited,  and  a  ride  to  the  mission  of  Santa  Barbara, 
whose  Moorish  bell-towers  haunted  Nora's  brain,  was  planned 
and  undertaken. 

The  warm  light  of  the  spring-day  shed  a  soft  glimmer  over 
crumbling  remnants  of  the  monuments  that  the  patient  labor 
of  the  mission  fathers  have  left  behind  them  —  monuments 
of  rock  and  stone,  shaped  by  the  hands  of  the  docile  abori- 
gines into  aqueducts  and  fountains,  reservoirs  and  mill-house ; 
monuments,  too,  of  living,  thriving  trees,  swaying  gently  in 
the  March  wind,  many  of  them  laden  with  promises  of  a  har- 
vest of  luscious  apricot  or  honey-flavored  pear.  The  hands 
that  planted  them  have  long  fallen  to  dust ;  the  humble  adobe 
that  gave  shelter  to  the  patient  toiler  is  empty  and  in  ruins, 
but  the  trees  he  planted  flourish,  and  bear  fruit,  year  after 
year;  and  from  the  shrine  where  he  once  knelt  to  worship 
his  new-found  Saviour,  there  echoes  still  the  Ave  and  the  Ves- 
per-bell, though  a  different  race  now  offers  its  devotion. 

A  day  or  two  later,  winter  seemed  to  have  returned  in  all 
its  fury ;  the  rain  poured  ceaselessly,  and  swelled  the  creeks  till 
their  narrow  banks  could  hold  the  flood  no  longer ;  the  wind 
tore  at  the  roses,  hanging  in  clusters  of  creamy  white  and 
dark  crimson,  on  trellises  and  high-growing  bush,  and  scat- 
tered showers  of  snow  from  almond  and  cherry  trees.  The 
C 


34  OVERLAND    TALES. 

fireplaces  in  the  Del  Gada  mansion  were  once  more  alive  and 
cheerful  with  a  sparkling  fire.  It  made  little  difference  to 
the  company  assembled  at  the  ranch ;  it  gave  Nora  and  Sister 
Anna  an  opportunity  of  seeing  more  of  the  home -life  of  the 
family,  and  impressed  them  with  the  excellence  of  the  haughty- 
looking  woman  at  the  head  of  the  establishment.  No  New 
England  matron  could  be  a  more  systematic  housekeeper, 
could  be  more  religiously  devoted  to  the  welfare  of  her  family 
and  servants.  "And  the  romance  of  it  all,"  Nora  often  re- 
peated. Night  and  morning  the  far-sounding  bell  on  the 
little  chapel  in  the  garden  called  the  members  of  the  house 
to  worship  ;  and  Donna  Incarnacion,  kneeling,  surrounded 
by  her  family  and  servants,  read  in  clear  tones  the  litanies 
and  prayers.  Once  a  week  the  priest  from  the  neighboring 
mission  visited  the  house,  and  then  the  large  drawing-room 
was  fitted  up  with  altar  and  lights  and  flowers,  and  neighbors, 
high  and  low,  of  all  degrees,  attended  worship. 

This,  however,  did  not  prevent  the  family  from  being  as 
jolly  as  Spanish  people  can  well  be,  in  this  same  drawing- 
room,  when  Mass  was  over,  and  "the  things  cleared  away." 
Of  cold  or  rainy  nights  the  company  resorted  to  this  room, 
where  they  had  music,  conversation,  refreshments.  But  every- 
thing had  a  dash  of  romance  to  Nora's  unbounded  delight. 
Refreshments  were  brought  in  on  large  trays,  borne  by  dusk, 
dark-clad  women ;  trays  loaded  with  oranges,  pomegranates, 
figs,  the  product  of  the  orchards  surrounding  the  house ;  and 
wine,  sparkling  red  and  clear  amber,  pressed  from  grapes 
gathered  in  the  vineyard  that  crept  close  up  to  the  door.  It 
was  not  only  California,  but  the  South,  of  which  Don  Pedro 
had  always  spoken  with  such  enthusiasm. 

"And  how  enthusiastic  he  does  grow  sometimes,"  said 
Nora  one  evening,  in  the  large  drawing-room  where  they 
were  all  assembled. 

Manuel,  who  performed  on  the  piano  as  well  as  the  flute, 


LA    GRACIOSA.  35 

had  just  finished  a  piece  of  music  which  Nora  had  taken 
from  her  trunk  for  him  to  play,  and  she  had  insisted  on  turn- 
ing the  leaves  for  him.  Don  Pedro  sat  near,  and  Nora  look- 
ing up,  had  caught  his  eye.  "See  the  enthusiasm  in  his 
face,"  she  said  to  Manuel.  "  How  fond  all  of  you  Spaniards 
are  of  music." 

"You  are  mistaken  in  two  points,  Donna  Leonora,"  the 
young  man  replied.  "Don  Pedro  is  no  Spaniard,  he  is  a 
Mexican ;  and  he  has  not  grown  enthusiastic  over  the  music 
• — he  has  seen  and  has  been  thinking  only  of  you." 

Nora's  cheeks  burned  at  something  in  Manuel's  voice ;  but 
a  grateful  feeling  stole  into  her  heart.  To  tell  the  truth,  she 
had  felt  a  pang  of  something  like  jealousy  of  late,  when  Nar- 
cissa,  who,  from  speaking  no  English,  was  thrown  on  Don 
Pedro's  hands,  seemed  to  take  up  more  of  his  attention  than 
necessary. 

When  the  weather  cleared  off,  our  party  began  to  talk  of 
moving  on  ;  Don  Pedro's  new  possession  was  only  one  or  two 
days'  journey  from  here,  below  San  Buenaventura.  There 
was  to  be  a  Rodeo  on  the  Del  Gada  ranch,  not  so  much  for 
the  purpose  of  branding  young  cattle,  as  to  give  the  different 
rancheros  an  opportunity  of  selecting  their  own  that  might 
have  strayed  into  the  mountains  and  found  their-  way  into  the 
Del  Gada  herds.  Nora  was  for  attending  the  Rodeo ;  she 
could  hardly  form  an  idea  of  what  it  was ;  but  she  was  sure, 
as  usual,  that  it  must  be  something  "highly  romantic." 

They  were  warned  that  they  must  get  up  early  in  the  morn- 
ing, and  seven  o'clock  found  them  already  on  the  ground  — 
a  little  valley,  shut  in  by  mountains  more  or  less  steep.  A 
small  creek,  made  turbulent  by  the  rains,  ran  through  the 
valley,  where  an  ocean  of  stock  seemed  to  roll  in  uneasy  bil- 
lows. It  was  all  as  romantic  as  Nora's  heart  could  wish.  The 
countless  herds  of  cattle  gathered  together  and'kept  from  dis- 
persing by  numbers  of  vaqueros,  who  darted  here  and  there 


36  OVERLAND    TALES. 

on  their  well-trained  horses,  leaped  ditches,  flew  up  the  steep 
mountain-sides  after  an  escaping  steer,  dashed  through  the 
foaming  torrent  to  gather  one  more  to  the  fold,  and  seemed 
so  perfectly  one  with  their  horse  that  from  here  might  have 
sprung  the  fable  of  the  old  Centaurs. 

Eyes  sharper  than  eagles  had  these  people,  master  and  man 
alike ;  out  of  the  thousands  of  that  moving  herd  could  they 
single  the  mighty  steer  that  bore  their  brand,  or  the  wild- 
eyed  cow  whose  yearling  calf  had  not  yet  felt  the  searing-iron. 
Into  the  very  midst  of  the  seething  mass  would  a  vaquero 
dart,  single  out  his  victim  without  a  moment's  halt,  drive  the 
animal  to  the  open  space,  and  throw  his  lasso  with  unerring 
aim,  if  a  close  inspection  was  desirable  —  a  doubt  as  to  the 
brand  to  be  set  aside.  If  a  steer  proved  fractious,  two  of  the 
Centaurs  would  divide  the  labor ;  and  while  one  dexterously 
threw  the  rope  around  his  horns,  the  other's  lasso  had  quickly 
caught  the  hind  foot,  and  together  they  brought  him  to  the 
earth,  that  he  had  spurned  in  his  strength  and  pride  but  a 
moment  before. 

Manuel  himself  could  not  resist  the  temptation  of  exhibit- 
ing his  skill ;  and  when  his  father  and  one  of  the  neighbors  — 
of  about  fifty  miles  away  —  both  claimed  a  large  black  bull, 
almost  in  the  .centre  of  the  herd,  he  dashed  in  among  the  cattle, 
drove  his  prey  out  on  a  gallop,  flung  his  lasso  around  the  ani- 
mal's hind  feet,  and  brought  him  to  the  ground  as  neatly  as 
any  vaquero  could  have  done. 

He  saw  Nora  clap  her  hands ;  he  saw,  too,  how  every  ranchero 
of  the  county  had  his  eyes  fixed  on  her,  as  she  sat  proudly,  yet 
so  lightly,  on  the  showy  black  horse ;  and  sadly  he  owned  to 
himself  that  he  would  risk  life  and  limb  any  time,  to  gain  the 
little  hand  that  wafted  him  a  kiss.  But  what  was  he?  A 
beggar,  perhaps,  to-morrow,  if  the  suit  went  against  them. 

Meantime  the  sun  grew  hot,  and  they  all  dismounted  and 
left  the  wagons,  and  lunch  was  discussed  ;  the  elite,  Americans 


LA    GRACIOSA.  37 

and  Spaniards  alike,  assembling  around  the  Del  Gada  pro- 
vision wagon,  while  the  vaqueros  were  well  satisfied  with  a 
chunk  of  bread,  a  handful  of  olives,  and  a  draught  of  wine, 
as  they  leisurely  drove  the  cattle  separated  from  the  Del  Gada 
herd  to  their  respective  territory. 

Then  came  the  parting  day.  Donna  Incarnacion  stood  on 
the  veranda,  as  on  the  day  of  their  arrival,  proudly  erect, 
conscious  of  herself  and  the  dignity  she  must  maintain. 
Beside  her  stood  her  daughter,  the  spots  on  her  cheeks  larger 
and  brighter,  but  a  pained,  restless  expression  in  the  eager 
eyes,  and  printing  itself  sharply  in  the  lines  about  the  mouth. 
Her  mother  seemed  not  to  note  the  girl's  evident  distress. 

Nora,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Whitehead,  and  the  Don  had  made 
their  adieux  ;  and  Manuel,  mounted  and  ready  to  escort  them, 
together  with  some  half  dozen  others,  turned  once  more  to  the 
veranda  to  ask  his  sister  some  question.  Like  a  flash  the 
truth  broke  on  him  as  he  caught  the  eager,  straining  glance 
that  followed  Don  Pedro's  form,  and  with  a  little  passionate 
cry  he  urged  his  animal  close  to  Nora's  side. 

"It  is  not  my  heart  alone  you  have  left  desolate  behind 
you,  Leonora.  My  sister's,  too  —  oh!  my  poor  Narcissa ! 
Now  I  know  why  my  mother  said  that  she  would  not  live  to 
see  spring  again  ;  now  I  know  why  she  prays  to  the  saints  for 
a  '  still  heart,'  night  and  morning.  Oh,  Leonora,  think  no 
more  of  the  dagger  you  have  planted  in  my  breast ;  think  of 
poor  Narcissa,  and  pray  for  her  as  you  would  for  one  already 
dead  —  for  the  love  of  a  Spanish  girl  is  deep  and  abiding,  and 
cannot  be  outweighed  by  gold  and  leagues  of  land  and  fine 
clothes." 

It  was  well  that  Don  Pedro  came  up ;  Nora  was  almost  faint- 
ing in  her  saddle.  He  did  not  catch  the  import  of  Don 
Manuel's  words,  but,  if  never  before,  he  recognized  in  him 
now  a  bold  and  dangerous  rival.  The  confusion  attending  a 
general  breaking-up  had  covered  this  little  by-scene,  and  when 
4 


38  OVERLAND    TALES. 

the  party  escorting  them  turned  back,  it  would  have  been  im- 
possible to  discover  that  one  or  two  hearts  throbbed  wildly  at 
the  parting  words. 

When  they  rode  into  San  Buenaventura,  with  its  dingy  little 
mission  church  fronting  on  the  main  street,  Nora  was  not 
half  so  much  interested  as  she  had  been.  They  were  right  in 
the  midst  of  the  mission  garden.  The  obtrusive  frame  houses 
of  the  fast-crowding  American  population  had  been  set  up  in 
it ;  the  streets  had  been  laid  out  through  it ;  the  ugly,  brick- 
built  court-house  stood  away  down  in  the  lower  part  of  it, 
where  the  blue  ocean  washed  the  shore,  and  murmured  all  day 
of  times  long  past  to  the  tall-growing  palms,  that  stood  deso- 
late and  alone. 

It  made  her  sad,  she  said  to  the  Don,  when  he  expressed 
his  surprise  at  her  silence,  to  see  the  stately  olives  of  a  cen- 
tury's growth  spread  their  great  branches  over  flimsy  little 
shops ;  to  see  the  neglected  vines  trailing  their  unpruned 
lengths  over  rubbish-piled  open  lots,  which  a  paper  placard 
announced  "  for  sale." 

When  night  came,  she  retired  to  her  up-stairs  room  at  the 
hotel,  put  the  light  out,  and  gazed  long  hours  on  the  placid 
ocean. 

"Let  us  get  on  as  soon  as  possible,"  said  Sister  Anna,  in 
confidence,  to  her  husband  the  next  morning.  "This  place 
seems  to  have  a  singular  effect  on  Nora.  She  says  she  could 
not  sleep  last  night,  for  thinking  whether  she  had  a  right  to 
barter  herself  away,  body  and  soul,  truth  and  honor,  perhaps, 
for  a  grand  home  and  a  great  deal  of  money." 

So  they  "got  on."  Don  Pedro  was  happy  to  gratify  every 
wish  of  the  ladies,  and  very  willing  to  enter  upon  his  own 
territory,  which  lay  so  near.  The  earth  looked  so  smiling  to 
Don  Pedro  when,  together  with  Nora,  a  little  in  advance  of 
the  wagons,  he  crossed  the  border  of  his  own  domain.  All 
the  morning  they  had  passed  droves  of  cattle  on  the  road, 


LA    GRACIOSA.  39 

and  flocks  of  sheep,  and  the  vaqiieros  tending  them  had  still 
saluted  Don  Pedro  as  their  master.  Shortly  they  encountered 
the  mayordomo  of  the  new  ranch,  and  after  a  short  parley 
with  him,  the  Don  turned  to  Nora  with  an  apology  for 
discussing  business  affairs  in  an  unfamiliar  tongue  in  her 
presence. 

"Let  us  make  a  compromise,"  suggested  Nora;  "do  you 
take  me  down  yonder  to  that  piece  of  white  pebble-beach, 
by  the  gray  rock,  and  you  may  come  back  and  talk  to  all  the 
vaqueros  and  mayordomos  in  the  land." 

The  mayordomo  wended  his  way  to  where  he  saw  the 
wagons  halting  in  a  grove,  and  Nora  and  the  Don  pursued 
their  own  way.  It  was  quite  a  distance  before  they  had 
reached  the  exact  spot  that  Nora  said  she  had  meant  —  they 
were  out  of  sight  of  the  rest.  The  ocean,  grand  and  solemn, 
lay  before  them,  grassy  plains  around  them,  groups  of  trees 
and  sloping  hflls  in  the  near  distance,  and  far  off  the  moun- 
tains in  their  never-changing  rest. 

Lightly  Don  Pedro  sprang  to  the  ground,  and  detaining 
Nora  one  moment  in  her  saddle,  he  said,  impressively  :  "  Now 
you  set  foot  upon  your  own  land,  a  territory  named  after  you, 
'  La  Graciosa. ' ' ' 

Then  he  lifted  her  tenderly  to  the  ground,  and  she  sprang 
lightly  away  from  him,  and  lavishly  praised  the  beauty  of  his 
new  possession. 

"And  it  is  all  like  this,"  he  continued,  "for  miles  and 
miles,  good  and  beautiful,  like  the  one  for  whom  I  named  it." 

"What  a  flatterer  you  are,"  she  said,  forced  at  last  to  take 
notice  of  the  name.  He  clasped  her  hand,  but  she  uttered  a 
little  shriek,  "  Oh  !  that  wicked  horse  of  yours  has  bitten  my 
poor  Rosa."  A  snort  from  the  black  mare  seemed  to  cor- 
roborate the  accusation,  and  Nora  had  gained  time  —  to  fight 
her  battle  out,  and  make  peace  with  herself. 

"Please  get  rid  of  that  tiresome  mayordomo  of  yours,  and 


4O  OVERLAND    TALES. 

come  back  to  me.  I  want  to  stay  here  alone  with  Rosa  and 
decide  whether  your  ranch  has  been  well  named."  She  could 
not  prevent  the  kiss  he  imprinted  on  her  slender  hand,  but 
she  drew  it  back  impatiently. 

"You  will  stay  here  till  J  return,  Leonora?"  he  asked, 
earnestly. 

"Yes,  yes,"  she  said,  a  little  fretfully,  and  waved  him  off. 

He  had  made  fast  her  horse  to  the  stump  of  a  scrub-oak, 
that  had  lived  its  short,  mistaken  life  here  close  by  the  sea ; 
and  Nora,  when  the  sound  of  the  other  horse's  hoofs  had  died 
away,  stroked  the  animal's  mane  approvingly,  and  patted  her 
neck.  Then  she  turned  and  walked  slowly  around  the  abrupt 
gray  crag,  and  stopped  ;  she  was  alone  at  last.  She  raised  her 
hand,  and  looked  from  under  it  out  on  the  sunlit  sea.  The 
waves  came  up  with  a  long,  gentle  swirl,  till  the  light  foam 
splashed  against  the  foot  of  the  crag,  then  receded,  leaving  a 
strip  of  white,  glistening  pebble  exposed.  Sbe  watched  it 
silently,  then  turned  her  face  to  let  her  eyes  sweep  the  plain, 
the  clumps  of  trees,  and  the  rolling  hills. 

"  'For  miles  and  miles,'  he  said,"  she  soliloquized,  "and 
that  is  not  all  his  fortune.  And  he  has  nothing  if  the  suit 
goes  against  them.  American  cunning  matched  against  Span- 
ish recklessness.  But  what  have  I  to  do  with  that  boy  ?  All 
I  have  wanted  and  prayed  for  is  a  home  and  an  honored 
name ;  it  is  within  my  reach  now ;  why  should  I  let  an  idle 
dream  stand  in  my  way?  " 

She  stood  where  the  ocean  washed  up  to  her  feet,  and  when 
she  looked  down  she  thought  she  saw  two  deep-blue  eyes,  wild 
with  suppressed  passion,  flashing  up  from  there.  She  turned, 
for  she  thought  she  heard  behind  her,  in  the  sighing  of  the 
wind  and  the  shriek  of  the  sea-mews,  the  cry  of  a  tortured 
heart.  But  she  banished  these  fancies  and  forced  her  thoughts 
into  other  channels.  She  thought  of  her  past  life,  of  the  wish 
she  had  had,  even  as  a  child,  to  travel  —  to  see  strange  lands. 


LA    GRACIOSA.  4! 

She  thought  of  the  Pyramids  of  Egypt,  and  that  her  wish  to 
see  them  could  now,  perhaps,  be  gratified  —  in  his  company. 
Well,  was  it  not  romantic,  after  all,  to  marry  the  dark-eyed 
Don,  with  the  haughty  bearing  and  the  enormous  wealth  ? 
She  had  a  lady  friend  once,  a  -city  acquaintance,  who  had 
married  a  wealthy  Spaniard.  But  she  had  been  divorced  after 
a  year's  time.  Divorced  !  what  an  ugly  sound  the  word  had. 
Was  Don  Pedro  near?  Had  his  ear  caught  the  sound ?  No ; 
thank  God,  she  was  alone. 

And  then  her  thoughts  strayed  again  to  the  old  Gada 
mansion,  and  the  broken-hearted  girl  she  had  left  there. 
"She  will  die,"  he  had  said;  and  she  fell  to  wondering 
whether  Father  Moreno  would  anoint  those  wistful  eyes  with 
the  consecrated  oil,  in  her  last  hour,  and  mutter  that  "they 
had  looked  upon  unholy  things,"  and  touch  the  little  waxen 
ears  "because  they  had  listened  to  unchaste  speech."  What 
a  mockery  it  seemed,  in  the  case  of  the  young  innocent  girl. 
"When  /die  —  "  She  stooped  suddenly  to  dip  her  hand 
into  the  water,  and  dashed  it  into  her  face  and  over  her  hair. 
"  Me  a  culpa!"  she  murmured,  striking  her  breast,  "  mea 
culpa  !  mea  maxima  culpa  ! ' ' 

And  once  more  she  pressed  her  hand  across  her  face,  for 
the  gallop  of  approaching  hoofs  fell  on  her  ear,  and  directly 
"Leonora!  "  rang  out  in  sharp,  uneasy  tone. 

She  answered  the  call,  and  Don  Pedro,  panting,  but  with  a 
happy  smile,  reached  out  his  hand  to  d*raw  her  away  from  the 
wet  sand. 

"  I  felt  as  though  I  had  lost  you.  What  would  life  be  with- 
out you,  Graciosa?" 

"  You  would  have  my  god-child  left,"  she  replied,  laughing. 

"  It  would  be  worthless  without  the  sponsor.  I  have  ac- 
quired it  for  you.  Do  you  accept  it  ?  " 

"  With  you  into  the  bargain  ?  "  she  smiled  gayly  as  she  said 
it.  She  hated  romance  and  sentimentality  all  at  once,  and 
4* 


42  OVERLAND    TALES. 

when  the  Don  kneeled  at  her  feet  to  kiss  both  her  hands,  she 
said,  with  a  laugh  :  , 

"  There  will  be  but  one  Graciosa,  after  all,  unless  you  take 
me  to  my  friends  and  the  lunch-basket.  I  am  almost  starved." 

"I  am  your  slave,"  he  avowed;  "you  have  but  to  com- 
mand." 

He  lifted  her  into  the  saddle,  with  trembling  hands  and 
beaming  eyes.  "  Oh,  Graciosa  !  Rightly  named,"  he  cried. 

"  Meaning  me  or  the  ranch?"  asked  Nora,  mischievously; 
and,  with  a  touch  of  the  whip,  she  urged  Rosa  ahead,  and 
threw  a  kiss  over  her  shoulder  to  the  Don.  His  eyes  followed 
her  proudly  awhile,  ere  he  spurred  his  horse  to  overtake  her, 
and  they  joined  Sister  Anna  laughing  and  happy  as  she 
could  wish  to  see  them. 

They  camped  out  that  night,  as  there  was  no  house  on  that 
part  of  the  ranch,  though  there  was  one  to  be  erected  near  the 
spot  where  they  had  joined  Sister  Anna,  for  Nora  said  she 
liked  the  view  there.  Early  next  morning  they  left  camp, 
expecting  to  reach  Los  Angeles  before  sunset. 

All  day  the  road  led  along  the  mountain-chain,  in  the  San 
Fernando  Valley  —  a  soft,  warm  day,  made  to  dream  and 
reflect.  The  clear  blue  haze  hung,  as  ever,  on  the  mountain- 
ridge,  and  the  plain  at  the  foot  was  white  and  odorous  Avith  the 
wild  "  Forget-me-not  "  of  California.  They  looked  to  Nora 
as  though  passionate  eyes  had  been  raining  tears  on  them  till 
the  color  had  been  blanched  out ;  and  when  Don  Pedro  gath- 
ered a  handful  and  brought  them  to  her,  she  said,  "  Don't, 
please  ;  it  hurts  me  to  see  you  break  them  off.  Throw  them 
away. ' ' 

"  How  strange  you  are,"  he  said,  but  he  obeyed,  and  did 
not  assert  his  authority  till  some  hours  later,  when  they  reached 
the  crossing  of  the  Los  Angeles  River.  —  Had  he  not  said  he 
would  be  her  slave  ? 

The   river   rushed  by  them   muddy  and  wild,  spread    far 


LA    GRACIOSA.  43 

beyond  its  allotted  limits  —  an  ugly,  treacherous-looking  piece 
of  water.  It  was  deep,  too ;  and  while  Don  Pedro  was  giving 
orders  in  regard  to  arranging  the  contents  of  the  baggage 
wagon,  Sister  Anna  was  trying  to  persuade  Nora  to  come  into 
their  wagon  while  fording  the  stream.  Nora  demurred ;  but 
the  Don  riding  up  decided  the  question  at  once. 

"  You  must  go  in  the  wagon,  Leonora,"  he  announced,  with 
somewhat  pompous  authority.  "I  will  not  have  you  exposed 
to  such  danger.  The  river  is  wide  at  present,  and  your  head 
%vill  get  light.  Mr.  Whitehead  and  I  will  go  on  horseback, 
but  you  must  go  in  the  wagon." 

A  rebellious  gleam  shot  from  Nora's  eye,  but  Sister  Anna 
listened  with  flushed  face,  as  to  something  new,  but  very 
pleasant  to  hear.  It  proved  an  ugly  crossing,  and  while  the 
servants  were  rearranging  the  baggage,  the  Don  strayed  a"  little 
apart  with  Nora,  and  found  a  seat  under  a  clump  of  willows. 

"It  is  hard  to  go  down  into  the  floods  when  there  is  so 
much  of  life  and  sunshine  all  around,"  and  with  a  little  ner- 
vous shiver  she  nestled  closer  to  the  Don's  side.  Impelled 
by  a  feeling  of  tenderness  he  could  not  control,  the  stately 
Don  threw  his  arms  around  the  supple  form  and  pressed  the 
first  kiss  on  her  pale  lips. 

She  shrank  from  him ;  had  any  one  seen  them  ?  There  was 
no  need  to  spring  up ;  she  knew  he  would  not  attempt  to  re- 
peat the  caress. 

The  City  of  the  Angels  lay  before  them  —  a  dream  realized. 

Whatever  there  was  unlovely  about  the  older,  adobe  built 
portion  of  the  place  was  toned  down  by  the  foliage  of  waving 
trees,  and  warmed  into  tropical  beauty  by  the  few  isolated 
palms,  which  some  blessed  hand  set  out  long  years  ago.  Our 
friends  did  not  pass  through  the  heart  of  the  city,  but  wended 
their  way  to  the  house  of  a  wealthy  Spanish  family,  which 
lay  among  the  gay  villas  and  stately  residences  of  the  modern 
portion  of  the  city.  Large  gardens  enclosed  them,  in  many 


44  OVERLA  ND    TALES. 

cases  surrounded  by  evergreen  hedges  of  supple  willow  and 
bristly  osage.  Tall  spires  arising  from  a  sea  of  green,  and 
imposing  edifices,  marked  the  places  where  the  Lord  could  be 
worshipped  in  style.  The  American  element  is  strong  in  Los 
Angeles. 

Senor  Don  Jose  Maria  Carillo  had  been  looking  for  his 
guests,  and  met  them  with  much  state  and  ceremony  on  the 
highway,  conducting  them  grandly  to  the  gate-posts  of  his 
garden,  where  they  were  received  by  Donna  Clotilda  and  a 
retinue  of  servants.  Even  the  children,  with  their  governess, 
were  summoned  from  the  school-room  to  greet  the  guests, 
and  Spanish  courtesy  and  Californian  hospitality  were  never 
better  exemplified  than  in  the  case  of  our  friends. 

"Oh,  Annie,  only  look!"  exclaimed  Nora,  clasping  her 
hands  in  admiration,  and  pointing  through  the  French  window 
at  the  back  of  the  double  parlors. 

The  house  was  an  adobe,  two  stories  high,  which  the  father 
of  the  present  inmate  had  built,  and  of  which  the  son  was 
properly  proud.  He  would  not  have  it  torn  down  for  the 
world,  but  it  had  been  modernized  to  such  an  extent  as  to 
rival  in  comfort  and  elegance  any  of  the  newer  American 
houses,  though  the  Spanish  features  were  still  predominant. 
The  particular  feature  that  had  attracted  Nora  so  strongly  as 
to  lead  her  into  making  the  hasty,  unceremonious  exclamation, 
was  a  remada,  a  kind  of  open  roof  built  of  heavy  timber 
beams,  at  the  back  of  the  house,  and  extending  over  several 
hundred  feet  of  the  ground.  It  was  covered  with  the  grape, 
among  whose  shading  leaves  and  graceful  tendrils  the  sunlight 
glinted  in  and  out,  playing  in  a  thousand  colors  on  clustering 
vines  with  bright  flowers,  that  clung  to  the  pillars  supporting 
the  roof.  Beyond  stretched  an  orange-grove,  where  yellow 
fruit  and  snowy  blossoms  glanced  through  the  glossy  leaves. 

"It  is  beautiful,  is  it  not?"  asked  a  voice  at  her  side. 
She  had  stepped  to  the  open  French  window,  regardless  of  all 


LA    GR  AGIOS  A.  45 

etiquette,  and  Don  Pedro  led  her  across  the  sill  into  the 
covered  garden. 

"Your  own  home  shall  be  like  this,  Leonora,  only  finer 
and  grander ;  you  shall  have  everything  that  your  heart  can 
wish." 

"You  are  very  good."  It  was  not  the  conventional 
phrase  with  her ;  she  meant  what  she  said,  for  her  eyes  were 
raised  to  his,  and  tears  trembled  in  the  lashes. 

It  was  a  charming  retreat.  Donna  Clotilda  spoke  English, 
though  none  of  the  servants  did,  except  a  ten-year  old  Indian 
girl,  who  was  detailed  to  wait  on  the  guests.  There  was  a 
round  of  visiting  and  going  through  the  city,  where  every  one 
admired  Nora,  and  looked  from  her  to  the  little  Don.  And 
Don  Pedro  was  proud  and  happy,  and  always  sought  new 
opportunities  of  passing  through  the  crowded  thoroughfares, 
on  foot,  on  horseback,  or  in  carriage. 

"  My  dear,"  he  said,  one  day,  "  I  would  know  how  hand- 
some you  are  from  looking  at  the  people  who  meet  us,  even 
though  I  had  never  seen  your  face." 

"Yes?"  said  Nora,  a  little  absent  and  dispirited,  as  she 
sometimes  was. 

"Yes;  one  man,  standing  at  the  corner  there,  behind  those 
boxes  —  you  did  not  see  him  —  opened  his  eyes  very  wide 
and  looked  hard  at  you,  and  then  pushed  his  hat  back  till  it 
fell  to  the  ground.  Then  he  saw  me,  and  felt  ashamed,  and 
turned  quick  to  pick  up  his  hat." 

"What  a  striking  appearance  mine  must  be!"  laughed 
Nora,  restored  to  good-humor,  for  the  time. 

It  has  often  seemed  to  me  that  all  Spanish  people,  of  what- 
ever degree,  throughout  California,  are  either  related  or  inti- 
mately acquainted  with  each  other.  Thus  Nora  heard  from 
the  Del  Gadas  occasionally;  nay,  even  from  the  Rodriguez, 
away  back  in  the  Salinas  Valley,  did  they  hear  news  and 
greeting  once.  Narcissa  del  Gada  was  dying,  the  Don  told 


46  OVERLAND    TALES. 

her ;  and  the  twinge  that  had  distorted  his  features  when  he 
first  mentioned  her  name  again  passed  over  them. 

But  all  the  time  of  our  friends  was  not  given  to  pleasuring ; 
many  a  long  morning  did  Brother  Ben  and  the  Don  pass 
together  at  the  Court- House,  the  Hall  of  Records,  and  other 
places  where  titles  are  examined  and  the  records  kept.  A 
ranch  of  twenty  or  thirty  thousand  acres  is  well  worth  securing, 
so  that  through  no  loophole  can  adverse  claimant  creep,  or 
sharp-witted  land-shark,  with  older  title,  spring  on  the  un- 
wary purchaser. 

In  the  meantime  spring  was  growing  into  summer;  the 
sun  began  to  burn  more  fierce,  and  Nora,  always  fond  of  out- 
doors, had  made  the  remada  her  special  camping-ground. 
She  sat  there  one  morning,  after  having  declined  to  go  on  a 
shopping  expedition  with  Sister  Anna.  It  had  seemed  rather 
ungracious,  too ;  but  Brother  Ben  had  come  to  the  rescue,  as 
usual,  and  had  taken  Nora's  place.  Now  she  sat  here,  pale 
and  listless,  her  hands  idly  folded,  her  eyes  wandering  among 
the  shadows  of  the  orange  grove. 

There  had  been  an  arrival  at  the  house,  she  thought,  for 
she  heard  the  tramp  of  a  horse  as  it  was  led  around  to  the 
stables ;  but  she  took  no  heed.  After  a  while  she  heard  the 
noise  of  one  of  the  long  windows  opening,  and  soon  she 
heard  steps  behind  her.  Then  a  low  voice  said  "  Leonora  !  " 
and  Manuel,  pale  and  haggard,  stood  before  her. 

All  her  listlessness  vanished  in  an  instant,  and  she  would 
have  flown  into  his  arms,  but  for  something  that  seemed  to 
make  him  unapproachable. 

"  Narcissa  is  dead,"  he  said,  monotonously,  "and  since 
coming  to  town  I  have  learned  that  I  am  a  beggar ;  we  are  all 
homeless  —  outcasts." 

"Oh,  Manuel!  "  she  cried,  laying  her  hand  on  his  arm,  "my 
poor,  poor  boy.  Come  with  me  into  the  open  air  —  this  place 
chokes  me.  And  now  tell  me  about  Narcissa."  She  drew 


LA    GRACIOSA.  47 

him  out  into  the  sunshine,  and  back  again  to  the  fragrant 
shadows  of  the  orange  grove.  She  sought  a  rustic  seat  for 
them,  but  he  threw  himself  on  the  sod  beside  it. 

"Wrecked  and  lost  and  lonely,"  he  groaned,  "it  is  well 
that  Narcissa  is  dead ;  and  yet  she  was  our  only  comfort." 

"Poor  Manuel!  "'she  repeated,  softly ;  "my  poor  boy." 
Her  fingers  were  straying  among  the  sunny  waves  of  his  hair, 
and  he  caught  her  hand  suddenly,  and  covered  it  with  a  frenzy 
of  kisses. 

"Leonora!"  he  cried,  all  the  reckless  fire  of  his  nation 
breaking  into  flames,  "  come  with  me,  and  we  will  be 
happy.  You  do  not  love  your  wealthy  affianced,  you  love 
me.  Be  mine ;  I  will  work  and  toil  for  you,  and  you  shall 
be  my  queen.  Oh,  Nora,  I  love  you  —  I  love  you  —  I  love 
you. ' ' 

Poor  Nora  !  why  should  stern  reality  be  so  bitter?  "  Fool- 
ish boy,"  she  said,  disengaging  her  hand,  "you  are  mad. 
What  if  Don  Pedro — " 

"  Ah,  true ;  I  had  forgotten  —  you  are  an  American.  Go, 
then,  be  happy  with  your  wealthy  husband;  Manuel  will 
never  cross  your  path  again." 

"Manuel!"  she  cried,  and  she  stretched  out  her  arms 
towards  the  spot  where  he  had  just  stood,  "come  back,  for 
I  love  you,  and  you  alone."  But  a  rustling  in  the  willow- 
hedge  only  answered  to  her  passionate  cry,  and  she  cowered 
on  the  garden-bench,  sobbing  and  moaning  out  her  helpless 
grief. 

The  rustling  in  the  willow-hedge  behind  her  grew  louder, 
so  that  even  she  was  startled  by  the  noise. 

"  Ho,  Nell!  "  The  words  fell  on  her  ears  like  the  crack 
of  doom,  her  face  grew  white  to  the  very  lips,  and  a  great 
horror  crept  into  her  eyes.  She  turned  as  if  expecting  to 
meet  the  engulfing  jaws  of  some  dread  monster,  and  her  eyes 
fell  upon  the  form  of  a  man,  whose  slovenly  dress  and  bloated 


48  OVERLAND    TALES. 

features  spoke  of  a  life  of  neglect  and  dissipation  —  perhaps 
worse. 

"Why,  Nell,  old  girl,"  he  continued,  familiarly,  "this  is 
a  pretty  reception  to  give  your  husband.  I  'm  not  a  ghost ; 
don't  be  afraid  of  me." 

"  Wretch  !  "  she  cried,  trembling  with  fear  and  excitement. 
"  How  dare  you  come  here?  Go  at  once,  or  I  shall  call  for 
help." 

"  No,  you  won't.  I  'm  not  afraid.  Come,  you  can  get  rid 

of  me  in  a  minute.  The  truth  is,  I  'm  d d  hard  up;  got 

into  two  or  three  little  unpleasantnesses,  and  got  out  only  by 
a  scratch.  I  want  to  get  away  from  here  —  it's  unhealthy 
here  for  me  —  but  I  've  got  no  money.  Saw  you  down  town 
with  that  pompous  Greaser  the  other  day;  know  him  well; 
he  's  got  lots  of  money ;  and  I  thought  that,  for  love  and  affec- 
tion, as  they  say  in  the  law,  and  in  consideration  of  our  former 
relations,  you  might  help  me  to  some  of  his  spare  coin." 

"You  miserable  man,"  she  cried,  beside  herself,  "is  it  not 
enough  that  you  blasted  my  life's  happiness?  Must  I  be  dragged 
down  to  the  very  lowest  degradation  with  you?  Oh,  Charlie," 
she  added,  in  changed,  softened  tones,  "  what  would  your 
mother  say  to  all  this?  " 

"  And  my  daddy  the  parson,"  he  laughed,  hoarsely.  "  Yes, 
we  know  all  that.  But  here,  Nell,"  he  went  on,  while  a  last 
glimmer  of  shame  or  contrition  passed  over  his  once  handsome 
face,  "  I  don't  want  to  hurt  you,  my  girl ;  you  've  always  been 
a  trump,  by  G ;  I  am  willing  you  should  become  the  re- 
spected wife  of  Don  Pedro  Lopez,  but  I  must  have  money, 
or  money's  worth.  That  cluster-diamond  on  your  finger ; 
tell  the  Greaser  you  lost  it.  Or  pull  out  your  purse ;  I  know 
it  is  full." 

"Nothing,"  she  said,  slowly  and  determinedly,  'f nothing 
shall  you  have  from  me  —  a  woman  you  have  so  wronged  and 
deceived  — " 


LA    GRACIOSA.  49 

"  Stop,  Nell ;  I  have  n't  time  to  wait  for  a  sermon.  Give 
me  what  you've  got —  Oh,  here  "s  h —  to  pay  and  no  pitch 
hot,"  he  interrupted  himself;  "there's  the  Don,  and  he's 
heard  it  all." 

He  spoke  true ;  Don  Pedro  stood  beside  them,  frozen  into 
a  statue.  At  last  he  breathed. 

"Yes,  heard  all.  And  I  would  have  made  you  my  wife  — 
you  a  divorced  woman.  Oh,  Santa  Maria !  She  divorced  of 
such  a  man  —  for  I  know  you,  Randal,"  he  continued,  lash- 
ing himself  into  a  fury —  "  horse-thief,  stage-robber,  gambler. 
It  was  you  who  killed  my  friend  Mariano  Anzar  after  robbing 
him  at  cards  —  murderer  !  You  shall  not  escape  me  as  you 
escaped  the  officers  of  the  law.  Hombres  /  catch  the  mur- 
derer !  "  he  shouted  towards  the  house,  as  he  made  a  dart  at 
the  man,  who  turned  at  bay,  but  halted  when  he  saw  that  the 
Don  was  not  armed. 

"  Stop  your  infernal  shouting  and  don't  touch  me,"  he 
said,  in  a  low,  threatening  voice.  But  the  Don  was  brave, 
and  his  blood  was  up;  he  sprang  upon  the  man,  shouting 
again ;  they  closed  and  struggled,  and  when  the  man  heard 
footsteps  swiftly  approaching,  he  drew  back  with  an  effort, 
and  hissing,  "You  would  have  it  so,  idiot,"  he  raised  his 
pistol  and  fired. 

Before  the  smoke  cleared  away  he  had  vanished,  and  the 
people  who  came  found  Don  Pedro  stretched  on  the  ground. 
His  life  was  almost  spent,  but  his  energy  had  not  deserted 
him.  He  gave  what  information  and  directions  were  necessary 
for  the  prosecution  of  his  murderer,  and  Manuel,  who  was 
among  the  excited  throng,  threw  himself  on  his  horse  to  head 
the  fugitive  off.  The  others  lifted  the  wounded  man  tenderly 
from  the  ground,  bore  him  gently  into  the  house,  and  frowned 
with  hostile  eyes  upon  Nora ;  it  had  taken  possession  of  their 
minds  at  once  that,  in  some  unexplained  manner,  the  Gringa 
was  the  cause  of  all  this  woe. 

5  D 


5O  OVERLAND    TALES. 

Nora  followed  them  like  an  automaton ;  she  saw  them  carry 
him  through  the  open  door-window  into  the  back  parlor, 
and  lay  the  helpless  figure  on  a  lounge.  A  messenger  had 
already  been  despatched  for  priest  and  doctor,  and  the  ser- 
vants, who  were  not  admitted  into  the  room,  lay  on  their  knees 
outside. 

-  Then  the  priest  came,  and  Nora,  in  a  strange,  dazed  way, 
could  follow  all  his  movements  after  he  went  into  the  room. 
The  odor  of  burning  incense  crept  faintly  through  the  closed 
doors,  and  she  wondered  again  —  did  the  priest  touch  the 
white  lips  and  say,  "for  they  have  uttered  blasphemies." 
The  fingers  were  stiffening,  she  thought ;  would  the  priest 
murmur  now — "  for  with  their  hands  do  men  steal;"  the 
eyelids  were  fluttering  over  the  glazed  eyes ;  the  cleansing  oil 
was  dropped  upon  them,  for  "  they  had  looked  upon  unholy 
things." 

She  saw  it  all  before  her,  and  heard  it,  though  her  eyes 
were  fast  closed,  and  her  ears  were  muffled,  for  she  had 
fallen,  face  down,  by  one  of  the  pillars  supporting  the  remada, 
and  the  thick-growing  tropical  vine,  with  its  bright,  crimson 
flowers,  had  buried  her  head  in  its  luxuriant  foliage,  and 
seemed  raining  drops  of  blood  upon  the  wavy  dark  brown 
hair. 

Thus  Manuel  found  her  when  he  returned  from  the  pursuit 
of  the  fugitive.  He  raised  her  head,  and  looked  into  large, 
bewildered  eyes.  "What  is  it?"  she  asked ;  "have  I  been 
asleep  ?  Oh,  is  he  dead  ?  ' ' 

"  The  wretched  man  I  followed?  Yes;  but  my  hand  did 
not  lay  him  low.  The  sheriff  and  his  men  had  been  hunting 
him ;  he  attempted  to  swim  the  river  at  the  ford ;  the  sheriff 
fired,  and  he  went  down  into  the  flood." 

Nora's  eyes  had  closed  again  during  the  recital,  and  Manuel 
held  a  lifeless  form  in  his  arms,  when  Sister  Anna  and  her 
husband  came  at  last.  They  had  heard  of  the  shooting  of 


LA    GRACIOSA.  $1 

Don  Pedro  in  the  city,  and  the  carriage  they  came  in  bore 
Nora  away  to  the  hotel.  Manuel  did  not  relinquish  his  pre- 
cious burden  till  he  laid  the  drooping  form  gently  on  the  bed 
at  the  hotel.  Then  the  doctor  came,  and  said  brain-fever 
was  imminent,  and  the  room  was  darkened,  and  people  went 
about  on  tip-toe.  And  when  the  news  of  the  death  of  Don 
Pedro  Lopez  was  brought  down  to  the  hotel,  Nora  was 
already  raving  in  the  wildest  delirium  of  the  fever. 

Weeks  have  passed,  and  Nora  has  declared  herself  not  only 
well,  but  able  to  return  home.  Manuel  has  been  an  invalua- 
ble friend  to  them  all,  during  these  weeks  of  trial,  and  Nora 
has  learned  to  look  for  his  coming  as  she  looks  for  the  day 
and  the  sunshine. 

To  him,  too,  was  allotted  the  task  to  impart  to  Nora  what 
it  was  thought  necessary  for  her  to  know  —  the  death  of  Don 
Pedro  and  the  finding  of  the  body  of  the  other,  caught 
against  the  stump  of  an  old  willow,  where  the  water  had 
washed  it,  covered  with  brush  and  floating  debris.  But  he 
had  glad  news  to  impart,  too ;  the  report  of  an  adverse  de- 
cision from  Washington  on  the  Del  Gada  suit  had  been  false, 
and  circulated  by  the  opposing  party  in  order  to  secure  better 
terms  for  withdrawal. 

One  morning  Nora  expressed  her  wish  to  leave  Los  Ange- 
les, and  Mr.  Whitehead  did  not  hesitate  to  gratify  her  wish. 
An  easy  conveyance  was  secured,  the  trunks  sent  by  stage, 
and  a  quick  journey  anticipated.  Manuel  went  with  them 
only  as  far  as  San  Buenaventura,  he  said,  for  it  was  on  his 
way  home.  But  when  they  got  there,  he  said  he  must  go  to 
Santa  Barbara,  and  no  one  objected.  At  Santa  Barbara  Nora 
held  out  her  hand  to  him,  with  a  saucy  smile : 

"  This  is  the  place  at  which  you  were  to  leave  us;  good-by." 

"  Can  you  tolerate  me  no  longer,  Nora?  " 

"  You  said  at  San  Buenaventura  you  would  try  my  patience 


52  OVERLAND    TALES. 

only  till  here.  How  long  do  you  want  me  to  tolerate  you, 
then?" 

"As  long  as  I  live.  Why  should  we  ever  part?  Be  my 
wife,  Nora,"  and  he  drew  her  close  to  him,  pressing  his  lips  on 
hers;  and  she  did  not  shrink  away  from  him,  but  threw  her 
arm  around  his  neck,  to  bend  his  head  down  for  another  kiss. 

"But  you  would  never  have  married  me  —  a  poor  man," 
he  says,  bantering. 

"Nor  would  you  have  married  me  —  a  divorced  woman," 
she  returns,  demurely. 


JUANITA. 

EVERY  man  in  the  settlement  started  out  after  him ;  but 
he  got  away,  and  was  never  heard  of  again." 

I  had  listened  quietly  to  the  end,  though  my  eyes  had 
wandered  impatiently  from  the  face  of  the  man  to  the  region 
to  which  he  pointed  with  his  finger.  There  was  nothing  to 
be  seen  out  there  but  the  hot  air  vibrating  over  the  torn, 
sandy  plain,  and  the  steep,  ragged  banks  of  the  river,  without 
any  water  in  it  —  as  is  frequently  the  case  at  this  season  of  the 
year.  The  man  who  had  spoken  —  formerly  a  soldier,  but, 
after  his  discharge  from  the  army,  station-keeper  at  this  point 
—  had  become  so  thoroughly  "  Arizonified  "  that  he  thought 
he  was  well  housed  in  this  structure,  where  the  mud-walls  rose 
some  six  feet  from  the  ground,  and  an  old  tent  was  hung  over 
a  few  crooked  manzanita  branches  for  a  roof.  There  was  a 
wide  aperture  in  the  wall,  answering  the  purpose  of  a  door ; 
and  a  few  boards  laid  on  trestles,  and  filled  in  with  straw, 
which  he  called  his  bunk.  He  had  raised  it  on  these  trestles, 
partly  because  the  snakes  couldn't  creep  into  the  straw  so 
"handy,"  and  partly  because  the  coyotes,  breaking  down  the 
barricade  in  the  doorway  one  night,  hunting  for  his  chickens, 
had  brought  their  noses  into  unpleasant  proximity  with  his 
face  while  lying  on  the  ground.  He  had  confided  these  facts 
to  me  early  in  the  morning,  shortly  after  my  arrival,  continu- 
ing his  discourse  by  a  half-apology  for  his  naked  feet,  to  which 
he  pointed  with  the  ingenuous  confession  that  "he'd  run 
barefooted  till  his  shoes  would  n't  go  on  no  more."  He  held 
them  up  for  my  inspection,  to  show  that  he  had  them  —  the 
5*  S3 


54  OVERLAND    TALES. 

shoes,  I  mean,  not  the  feet — a  pair  of  No.  i4's,  entirely  new, 
army  make. 

We  had  arrived  just  before  daybreak,  my  escort  and  I  having 
made  a  "  dry  march  " — which  would  have  been  too  severe  on 
Uncle  Sam's  mules  in  the  scorching  sun  of  a  June  day — during 
the  night.  The  morning,  flashing  up  in  the  East  with  all  the 
glorious  colors  that  give  token  of  the  coming,  overpowering 
heat,  brought  with  it  also  the  faint,  balmy  breath  of  wind  in 
which  to  bathe  one's  limbs  before  the  sun  burst  forth  in  its 
burning  majesty.  Phil,  the  ambulance-driver,  and  my  oracle, 
said  I  could  wander  off  as  far  as  I  wanted  without  fear  of 
Indians ;  so  I  had  ascended  the  steep  hill  back  of  the  station, 
and,  spying  what  looked  like  a  graveyard  at  the  foot  of  it,  on 
the  other  side,  I  had  immediately  clambered  down  in  search  of 
new  discoveries.  I  knew  that  there  had  formerly  been  a  mil- 
itary post  here :  it  is  just  so  far  from  the  Mexican  border  that 
fugitives  from  the  law  of  that  country  would  instinctively  fly 
this  way  for  refuge ;  and  just  near  enough  the  line  where  the 
"  friendly  Indian  "  ceases  to  be  a  pleasant  delusion,  to  make 
the  presence  of  a  strong  military  force  at  all  times  necessary 
for  the  protection  of  white  settlers.  But  there  are  none ;  and 
Uncle  Sam,  protecting  his  own  property  "on  the  march" 
through  here  as  well  as  possible,  allows  the  citizen  and  merchant 
to  protect  himself  and  his  goods  the  best  way  he  can.  Why 
the  camp  had  been  removed,  I  cannot  tell  —  neither,  perhaps, 
could  those  who  occupied  it  —  but  I  am  pretty  sure  they  were 
all  very  willing  to  go.  I  've  never  seen  the  soldier  yet  that 
wasn't  glad  of  a  change  of  post  and  quarters. 

There  were  quite  a  number  of  graves  in  this  rude  burying- 
ground  (I  don't  like  that  name,  on  the  whole ;  but  it  seemed 
just  the  proper  thing  to  call  this  collection  of  graves),  and 
among  them  were  two  that  attracted  my  attention  particularly. 
The  one  was  a  large,  high  grave,  with  rather  a  pretentious 
headstone,  bearing  the  inscription : 


JUAN  IT  A.  55 

"  To  THE  MEMORY  OF  JAMES  OWENS, 
Who  came  to  his  death  May  20,  1 86-." 


The  other  seemed  smaller,  though  it  was  difficult  to  determine 
the  exact  dimensions,  on  account  of  the  rocks,  bones,  and  dry 
brush  piled  on  it.  It  is  the  custom  of  the  Mexicans  in  passing 
by  a  grave  to  throw  on  it  a  stone,  a  clump  of  earth,  or  a  piece 
of  brush  or  bone,  if  they  have  nothing  else,  as  a  mark  of  re- 
spect :  so  I  concluded  at  once  that  some  one  of  that  national- 
ity lay  buried  here.  One,  too,  who  had  some  faithful  friend  ; 
for  there  was  a  look  about  the  grave  that  spoke  of  constant 
attention  and  frequent  visits  to  it. 

On  my  return,  having  done  justice  to  the  breakfast  the 
station-keeper  had  prepared  (and  for  which  he  had  killed  one 
of  his  chickens,  in  order  to  "entertain  me  in  a  lady-like  man- 
ner," as  he  said  to  Phil),  I  questioned  him  about  the  Amer- 
ican whose  grave  I  had  seen  out  there.  Before  he  could 
answer,  a  shadow  fell  across  the  doorway,  and  I  half  rose 
from  the  ambulance-cushion  I  was  occupying,  when  I  saw  an 
Indian,  a  young  fellow  of  about  twenty,  stand  still  in  front  of 
it,  half  hiding  the  form  of  an  aged  crone,  on  whose  back  was 
fastened  a  small  bundle  of  fire-wood,  such  as  is  laboriously 
gathered  along  the  beds  and  banks  of  water-courses,  in  this 
almost  treeless  country.  The  Indian  stooped  to  lift  the  load 
from  the  woman's  back ;  and  she  turned  to  go,  without  even 
having  lifted  her  eyes,  either  to  the  ambulance  that  stood 
near  the  doorway,  the  soldiers  that  lounged  around  it,  or 
myself.  The  station-keeper  seized  an  old  tin-cup,  filled  !it 
with  coffee,  piled  the  remains  of  the  breakfast  on  a  tin-plate, 
and  disappeared  in  the  doorway.  Returning,  he  answered 
me,  at  last : 

"The  grave  you  saw  was  dug  for  a  man  that  lived  here 

while  I  was  yet  a  soldier  in  the Infantry  at  this  camp. 

He  had  brought  a  Spanish  woman  with  him,  his  wife,  with 


56  OVERLAND    TALES. 

whom  he  lived  in  one  of  those  houses,  right  there,  on  the 
bank  of  the  river.  He  had  sold  some  horses  to  the  Govern- 
ment, at  Drum  Barracks,  and  was  sent  out  here  with  them ; 
and  seeing  that  it  was  quite  a  settlement,  he  thought  he  'd 
stay.  She  was  a  mighty  fine-looking  woman  —  a  tall,  stoutish 
figure,  with  as  much  pride  as  if  she  had  been  a  duchess. 
Among  the  Mexicans  in  the  settlement  was  a  man  who,  they 
said,  had  been  a  brigand  in  Mexico,  had  broken  jail,  and 
come  here,  first  to  hide,  and  then  to  live.  It  warn't  long 
till  he  began  loafering  about  Owens'  place ;  and  one  night, 
while  Owens  was  standing  in  his  door,  smoking,  there  was  a 
shot  fired  from  the  direction  of  the  hill,  behind  this  place,  and 
Owens  fell  dead  in  his  own  doorway.  There  was  no  doubt 
in  anybody's  mind  who  the  murderer  was,  for  his  cabin  was 
empty,  and  he  could  be  found  nowhere  about  camp.  The 
soldiers,  as  well  as  the  other  fellows,  were  determined  to  lynch 
him,  and  xevery  man  in  the  settlement  started  out  after  him ; 
but  he  got  away,  and  no  one  ever  heard  of  him  again." 

"  And  the  woman?  "  I  asked. 

"  Oh,  nobody  could  hurt  her ;  and  she  raved  and  ranted 
dreadful  for  awhile.  But  she  turned  up  absent  one  morning, 
about  a  week  after  we  had  put  him  under  the  ground,  and  her 
husband's  watch  and  money  had  gone  with  her." 

"But,"  said  I,  impatiently,  "where  is  the  settlement  you 
speak  of?  I  have  not  found  a  trace  of  it  yet." 

"  Well,  you  see,  they  were  a^^-houses  that  they  built, 
and  the  rains  were  very  heavy  last  year,  and  the  Gila  com- 
nlenced  washing  out  this  way ;  the  banks  caved  in  and  carried 
the  rubbish  away.  They  hadn't  been  occupied  for  some 
time ;  but  the  house  where  Owens  lived  is  just  right  across 
there  —  if  you  go  near  the  bank  you  can  see  where  he  built  a 
good,  solid  chimbley,  like  they've  got  at  home.  The  camp 
used  to  be  down  the  flat  apiece.  I  had  my  house  there  last 
year;  but  it  washed  away  with  the  rain  :  so  I  built  up  here, 


JUANITA.  57 

where  there  's  better  shelter  for  my  chickens.  They  're  my 
only  friends,  besides  Bose,  and  I  've  got  to  be  choice  of  'em. 
I  don't  see  a  white  face  for  months,  sometimes,  since  the  war 
is  over,  and  it  keeps  me  company  kinder,  to  see  the  places 
where  the  houses  used  to  be." 

"And  the  other  grave  —  that  with  the  bones  and  rocks 
piled  on  it  ?  " 

The  man  threw  a  look  toward  the  doorway,  and  put  his 
hands  in  his  pockets. 

"That 's  Juanita's  grave.     She  was  an  Indian  girl." 

He  walked  out  of  the  door  ;  and,  as  I  had  nothing  better 
to  do,  I  too  stepped  out,  thinking  to  go  as  far  to  look  for  the 
ruins  of  that  "chimbley  "  as  the  blazing  sun  would  permit. 
The  first  I  saw  when  I  came  out  of  the  doorway  was  the  old 
Indian  woman,  sitting  on  the  ground  in  the  shade  of  the 
house,  her  back  against  the  wall,  her  knees  drawn  up,  her 
elbow  resting  on  them,  the  doubled  fist  supporting  the  face, 
while  the  other  hand  hung  listlessly  across  them.  The  face 
was  aged  and  wrinkled,  the  hair  a  dirty  gray,  and  the  eyes 
seemed  set  —  petrified,  I  had  almost  said  —  with  some  great, 
deep  sorrow.  Beside  her  stood  the  tin-cup,  untouched  and 
unnoticed ;  the  tin-plate  had  been  almost  emptied  of  its  con- 
tents ;  but  a  drumstick  in  the  hands  of  the  young  Indian,  and 
a  suspicious  glossiness  about  his  mouth  and  chin,  seemed  to 
mark  the  road  the  chicken  had  taken.  The  station-keeper 
stood  by  the  woman,  and  said  something  to  her  in  a  jargon  I 
could  not  understand  ;  but  she  took  no  more  notice  of  him  or 
what  he  said  than  if  it  were  a  fly  that  had  buzzed  up  to  her. 
She  moved  neither  her  eyes  nor  her  head,  looking  out  straight 
before  her.  I  walked  as  far  as  the  banks  of  the  river,  failed 
to  discover  the  remains  of  the  "  chimbley,"  and  turned  back 
to  the  house.  The  station-keeper  was  not  to  be  seen;  the 
Indian  boy  paused  from  his  labors  to  take  a  look  at  me ;  but 
the  woman  seemed  to  be  a  thousand  miles  away,  so  little  did 
she  take  heed  of  my  presence. 


58  OVERLAND    TALES. 

It  was  nearly  noon,  and  I  concluded  to  pass  the  rest  of  the 
day  in  sleep,  as  we  were  to  leave  the  station  at  about  ten  in  the 
night,  when  the  moon  should  be  up.  The  "whole  house" 
had  been  given  up  to  me,  and  a  comfortable  bed  arranged  out 
of  mattress  and  wagon-seats,  so  that  I  felt  comparatively  safe 
from  prowling  vermin,  and  soon  went  to  sleep.  I  awoke  only 
once,  late  in  the  afternoon ;  the  station-keeper  was  saying 
something  in  a  loud  voice  that  I  could  not  understand,  and, 
directly,  I  saw  two  pair  of  dusky  feet  passing  by  the  space  that 
the  blanket,  hung  up  in  the  doorway,  left  near  the  ground. 
After  awhile  I  raised  the  blanket,  and  saw  the  Indians  trudg- 
ing along  through  the  sandy  plain,  the  woman  following  the 
tall,  athletic  form  of  the  man,  the  yellow  sun  burning  fiercely 
down  on  their  bare  heads,  scorching  the  broad,  prickly  leaves 
of  the  cactus,  and  withering  its  delicate,  straw-colored,  and 
deep-crimson  flowers.  I  dropped  the  curtain,  panting  for 
breath :  it  was  too  hot  to  live  while  looking  out  into  that 
glaring  sunshine. 

Later,  when  I  could  sleep  no  more,  and  had  made  my 
desert  toilet,  I  stood  in  the  doorway,  and  saw  the  two  Indians 
coming  back  as  in  the  morning :  the  woman  with  a  bundle  of 
fire-wood  on  her  shoulders,  the  man  walking  empty-handed 
and  burdenless  before  her.  I  turned  to  the  station-keeper, 
and  pointing  to  the  bundle  she  had  brought  in  the  morning, 
and  which  lay  untouched  by  the  wall,  I  said,  indignantly : 

"  It  seems  to  me  you  need  not  have  sent  the  poor  woman 
out  in  the  blazing  sun  to  gather  fire-wood,  when  you  had  not 
even  used  this.  You  might  have  waited  till  now." 

"She — she  would  have  been  somewhere  else  in  the  blazing 
sun;  she  was  just  going — "  And  he  stopped  —  as  he  had 
spoken  —  in  haste,  yet  with  some  confusion. 

I  cast  a  pitying  look  on  the  woman,  which,  however,  she 
heeded  no  more  than  the  rose-pink  and  pale-gold  sunset- 
clouds  floating  above  her,  and  then  wandered  slowly  forth 


JUAN  IT  A.  59 

toward  the  hill,  which  I  meant  to  climb  while  the  day  was 
going  down. 

When  I  reached  the  top,  the  light,  flying  clouds  had  grown 
heavy  and  sad,  and  their  rose  hue  had  turned  into  a  dark, 
sullen  red,  with  tongues  of  burning  gold  shooting  through  it 
—  the  history  of  Arizona,  pictured  fittingly  in  pools  of  blood 
and  garbs  of  fire.  But  the  fire  died  out,  and  a  dim  gray  crept 
over  the  angry  clouds ;  and  then,  slowly,  slowly,  the  clouds 
weaved  and  worked  together  till  they  formed  a  single  heavy 
bank  —  black,  dark,  and  impenetrable. 

Just  as  I  turned  to  retrace  my  steps,  my  eyes  fell  on  a  group 
of  low  bushes,  which  would  have  taken  the  palm  in  any  collec- 
tion of  those  horribly  dead-looking  things  that  ladies  call  phan- 
tom-flowers. So  pitilessly  had  the  sun  bleached  and  whitened 
the  tiny  branches,  that  not  a  drop  of  life  or  substance  seemed 
left ;  yet  they  were  perfect,  and  phantom-bushes,  if  ever  I  saw 
any.  How  well  they  would  look  on  those  graves  below,  I 
thought,  as  I  approached  to  break  a  twig  in  remembrance  of 
the  strange  sight.  But  how  came  the  red  berries  on  this  one  ? 
I  stooped,  and  picked  up  —  a  rosary ;  the  beads  of  red-stained 
wood,  the  links  and  crucifix  of  some  white  metal,  and  in- 
scribed on  the  cross  the  words,  "Souvenir  de  la  Mission.'" 
How  had  it  come  there  ?  Had  ever  the  foot  of  devout  Cath- 
olic-pressed this  rocky,  thorny  ground?  Of  what  mission  was 
it  a  gift  of  love  and  remembrance  ?  Surely  it  had  not  lain 
here  a  hundred  years — the  gift  of  love  from  one  of  the  Spanish 
padres  of  the  Arizona  Missions  to  an  Indian  child  of  the 
church!  Or  had  it  come  from  one  of  those  California  Mis- 
sions, where  the  priests  to  this  day  read  masses  to  the  descend- 
ants of  the  Mission  Indians  ?  Yonder,  in  the  west,  with  the 
purplish  mists  deepening  into  darkness  in  its  cleft  sides,  was 
the  mountain  which  to-morrow  would  show  us  "  Montezuma's 
face,"  and  here  lay  the  emblem  of  peace,  of  devotion  to  the 
one  living  God.  Perhaps  the  station-keeper  could  solve  the 


60  OVERLAND    TALES. 

mystery ;  so  I  hastened  back  through  the  gloom  that  was  set- 
tling on  the  earth,  unbroken  by  any  sound  save  the  distant 
yelping  of  a  coyote,  who  had  spied  me  out,  and  followed  me, 
as  though  to  see  if  I  were  the  only  one  of  my  kind  who  had 
come  to  invade  his  dominion. 

"  See  what  I  have  found  !  "  I  cried  exultingly,  when  barely 
within  speaking  distance  of  the  station-keeper,  who  stood 
within  the  doorway. 

In  a  moment  he  was  beside  me,  calling  out  something  in  his 
Indian-Spanish,  which  seemed  to  electrify  the  woman,  who 
still  sat  by  the  adobe  wall.  Springing  up  with  the  agility  of 
a  panther,  she  was  by  my  side,  pointing  eagerly  to  my  hand 
holding  the  rosary. 

"  What  does  she  want  ?  "  I  asked,  in  utter  consternation. 

"  The  rosary ;  give  her  the  rosary  "  —  the  barefooted  man 
was  speaking  almost  imperiously  —  "it's  hers;  she  has  the 
best  right  to  it." 

"Gladly,"  I  said;  but  she  had  already  clutched  it,  and 
turned  tottering  back  to  the  mud-wall,  against  which  she 
crouched,  as  though  afraid  of  being  robbed  of  her  new-found 
treasure. 

The  man  turned  to  me  in  evident  excitement:  "And  you 
found  it !  Where  ?  She  has  been  hunting  for  it  these  years 
— day  after  day — in  the  blazing  sun  and  streaming  rain  ;•  and 
you  found  it.  Well,  old  Screetah's  eyes  are  getting  blind  — 
she's  old  —  old." 

"  But  her  son  might  have  found  it,  if  he  had  looked ;  for  I 
found  it  just  up  on  the  hill  there,"  I  suggested. 

"  He  's  not  her  son ;  only  an  Indian  I  kept  to  look  after 
her,  kinder ;  for  she  's  been  brooding  and  moping  till  she  don't 
seem  to  notice  nothing  no  more.  But  now  she  's  found  it, 
maybe  she  '11  come  round  again,  or  go  on  to  Sonora,  wherJ, 
she  says,  her  people  are." 

"  How  came  she  to  lose  it,  then,  if  it  was  so  precious  ?  " 


JU  ANITA.  6 1 

"She  didn't  lose  it — but,  I  forget  everything;  supper's 
been  waiting  on ;  if  you  '11  eat  hearty,  I  '11  tell  you  about  those 
beads  after  a  while.  The  moon  won't  rise  till  after  ten,  and 
you  've  good  three  hours  yet." 

I  was  so  anxious  to  hear  about  the  beads,  that  I  would  not 
give  the  man  time  to  wash  dishes ;  though  he  insisted  on  put- 
ting away  the  china  cup  and  plate,  which  he  kept  for  State 
occasions,  when  he  saw  my  disposition  to  let  Bose  make  free 
with  what  was  on  the  table  —  table  being  a  complimentary 
term  for  one  of  the  ambulance-seats. 

In  the  days  when  this  had  been  a  military  post,  garrisoned 

by  but  one  company  of  the Infantry,  the  station-keeper 

had  been  an  enlisted  man,  and  the  servant  of  Captain  Cas- 
tleton,  commanding  the  camp  and  company.  Young,  hand- 
some, and  generous,  the  men  were  devoted  to  their  captain, 
though  as  strict  a  disciplinarian  as  ever  left  the  military 
school.  The  little  settlement  springing  up  around  the  camp 
was  chiefly  peopled  by  Indians  and  Mexicans,  and  only  two 
or  three  Americans.  When  Captain  Castleton  had  been  here 
just  long  enough  to  get  desperately  tired  of  the  wearisome 
solitude  and  monotony  of  camp,  and  had  put  in  motion 
whatever  influence  his  friends  had  with  the  authorities  at 
head-quarters  to  relieve  him  of  the  command  of  the  post  and 
the  inactive  life  he  was  leading,  an  Indian  woman  and  her 
daughter  came  into  the  settlement  one  evening,  and  found 
ready  shelter  with  the  hospitable  Mexicans.  That  she  was  an 
Indian  was  readily  believed ;  but  that  the  girl  with  her  be- 
longed to  the  same  people,  was  not  received  with  any  degree 
of  faith  by  those  who  saw  her.  She  was  on  her  way  back  to 
Sonora,  she  said,  to  her  own  people,  from  whence  she  had 
come  with  her  husband,  years  ago,  along  with  a  pack-train  of 
merchandise,  for  some  point  in  Lower  California.  From 
there  she  had  gradually  drifted,  by  way  of  San  Diego,  into 
California,  up  to  Los  Angeles,  and  on  to  some  Mission  near 
6 


62  OVERLAND    TALES. 

there,  where  she  had  lived  among  the  Mission  Indians,  after 
her  husband's  death,  and  where  Juanita  had  been  taught  to 
read,  write,  and  sing  by  the  Mission  priests. 

At  last  Screetah  had  concluded  to  go  back  to  Sonora,  and 
had  drifted  downward  again  from  Los  Angeles,  to  Temescal, 
to  Temacula,  to  Fort  Yuma,  and  through  the  desert,  till, 
finally,  some  compassionate  Mexicans  had  carried  her  and  the 
girl  with  them  through  the  last  waterless  stretch  to  this  place. 
The  girl,  with  her  velvety  eyes  and  delicately  turned  limbs, 
soon  became  the  favorite  and  the  adored  of  every  one  in  camp 
and  settlement ;  and,  though  that  branch  of  her  education  to 
which  her  mother  pointed  with  the 'greatest  pride  —  reading 
and  writing  —  had  never  taken  very  deep  root  in  the  girl's 
mind,  she  sang  like  an  angel,  and  looked  "like  one  of  them 
pictures  where  a  woman  's  kneeling  down,  with  a  crown 
around  her  head,"  while  she  was  singing.  Indeed,  the  relig- 
ious teachings  of  the  good  priests  seemed  to  have  sunk  deeply 
into  the  gentle  heart  of  Juanita,  and  her  greatest  treasure — an 
object  itself  almost  of  devotion  — was  a  rosary  the  priest  had 
given  her  on  leaving  the  Mission.  It  had  been  impressed  on 
her,  that  "  so  long  as  these  beads  glided  through  her  fingers, 
while  her  lips  murmured  Aves  and  Pater-nosters,  night  and 
morning,  so  long  were  the  angels  with  her.  Did  the  angels 
take  the  rosary  from  her — which  would  happen  if  Juanita  forgot 
the  teachings  of  the  priests,  and  no  longer  laid  her  heart's  in- 
most thoughts  before  the  Blessed  Mother  —  then  would  she 
lose  her  soul's  peace  and  her  hopes  of  heaven  ;  and  she  must 
guard  the  sacred  beads  as  she  would  her  own  life." 

There  was  no  point  of  resemblance  between  Juanita  and 
the  old  Indian  woman ;  and  the  girl,  though  warmly  attached 
to  her,  declared  that  she  was  not  her  mother,  only  her  nurse 
or  servant.  Her  mother,  she  said,  had  been  a  Spanish  Dona, 
and  her  father  a  mighty  chief  of  his  tribe,  whose  head  had 
been  displayed  on  the  gate  of  some  Mexican  fortress  for  weeks 


JUAN  IT  A.  63 

after  it  had  been  delivered  to  the  Government  by  some  treach- 
erous Indian  of  his  band.  Juanita's  personal  appearance,  the 
fluency  with  which  she  spoke  Spanish,  her  very  name  even, 
seemed  to  confirm  her  accounts,  dim  and  confused  as  the  rec- 
ollections of  her  earliest  childhood  were ;  nevertheless,  she 
had  "Indian  in  her,"  as  the  man  said,  for  she  proved  it  be- 
fore she  died. 

But  to  return  to  the  time  of  their  arrival  in  camp.  Screetah 
seemed  in  no  hurry  to  resume  her  journey  through  the  burn- 
ing desert ;  and,  as  Cdptain  Castleton  said,  he  would  no  doubt 
have  retained  her  by  force  rather  than  let  her  drag  the  poor 
child  through  the  waterless  wastes  into  sure  destruction.  He 
had  given  them  an  old  tent  after  they  had  been  with  their 
Mexican  friends  for  nearly  a  week;  and  when  these  same 
Mexicans  left  the  camp,  the  two  women  were  given  possession 
of  their  house.  Here  it  became  a  source  of  never-ending  de- 
light to  the  old  Indian  that  all  the  choice  things  by  which  she 
set  such  store,  and  which  among  her  "civilized"  Indian 
friends  had  been  so  scarce,  as  coffee,  sugar,  and  bacon,  were 
served  out  to  her  as  though  they  rained  down  from  the  sky. 
But  to  do  Screetah  justice,  the  sweetest  side  of  bacon  and  the 
biggest  bagful  of  sugar  never  gave  her  half  the  pleasure  that 
she  felt  when  one  of  the  soldiers  gave  to  Juanita  a  lank,  rag- 
ged pony,  which,  on  a  scout,  he  had  bought,  borrowed,  or 
stolen  from  an  Indian  at  the  Maricopa  Wells.  Her  time  was 
now  pretty  equally  divided  between  the  rosary  and  the  pony, 
which,  in  time,  lost  its  ragged,  starved  appearance,  under  her 
treatment,  and  retained  only  its  untamable  wildness,  and  the 
unconquerable  disposition  to  throw  up  its  hindlegs  when  run- 
ning at  full  tilt,  as  though  under  apprehension  that  the  simple 
act  of  running  did  not  give  an  adequate  idea  of  its  abilities. 
At  first,  Captain  Castleton,  highly  amused,  would  call  for  his 
horse  when  he  saw  Juanita  battling  with  her  vicious  steed  on 
the  plain  near  camp,  in  order  to  witness  the  struggles  of  "  the 


64  OVERLAND    TALES. 

wild  little  Indian  "  near  by.  But,  after  awhile,  they  would 
ride  forth  together,  and  dash  over  the  level  ground  cr  climb 
up  to  the  highest  point  of  the  hill  —  Juanita's  voice  ringing 
back  to  the  camp  almost  as  long  as  she  was  in  sight,  chanting 
some  wild  anthem,  in  which  seemed  blended  the  joyous  strains 
of  the  heavenly  band  and  the  wild  song  of  the  savage  when 
he  flies  like  an  arrow  through  his  native  plains. 

Old  Screetah's  low-roofed  adobe  had  assumed  quite  an  air 
of  comfort  through  the  exertions  of  some  good-natured  soldiers, 
and  more  particularly  through  the  manifestations  of  Captain 
Castleton's  favor.  From  a  passing  pack-train,  laden  with 
Sonora  merchandise,  he  had  bought  the  matting  that  covered 
the  mud-floor ;  the  sun-baked  pottery-ware  was  Screetah's 
greatest  boast,  as  it  came  from  the  same  province  —  her  birth- 
place ;  and  the  bright-colored  Navajo  blanket  had  been  bought 
with  many  a  pound  of  bacon  and  of  coffee  —  articles  more 
precious  far  in  this  country  than  the  shining  metal  which  men 
risk  their  lives  to  find  here.  No  wonder  that  the  captain 
passed  more  of  his  time  in  Screetah's  hut  than  in  his  white 
wall-tent,  where  the  sun,  he  said,  blinded  him,  beating  on  the 
fly  all  day  long ;  and  where  the  slightest  breeze  brought  drifts 
of  sand  with  it.  That  Juanita  seemed  to  live  and  breathe 
only  for  him  had  come  to  be  a  matter  of  course.  Among  the 
Mexicans  it  was  accepted  that  at  a  certain  phase  or  change  of 
the  moon  there  had  been  some  words  spoken,  or  some  rite 
performed,  by  old  Screetah,  which,  according  to  their  belief, 
constituted  Indian  marriage ;  and  both  seemed  happy  as  the 
day  is  long. 

Like  a  thunderbolt  from  the  clear  sky  it  struck  him  one  day, 
when  the  mail-rider  brought  official  letters  advising  him  of 
the  change  that  had  been  made  in  his  favor.  He  was  directed 
to  proceed  at  once  to  Drum  Barracks,  there  to  await  further 
orders !  It  was,  perhaps,  the  first  time  that  he  experienced 
the  curse  of  having  his  most  ardent  wishes  gratified.  For 


JUANITA.  65 

days  he  wandered  about  like  the  shadow  of  an  evil  deed  — 
restless  from  the  certainty  of  approaching  judgment,  and  faint- 
ing with  the  knowledge  that  he  was  powerless  to  ward  off  the 
coming  blow.  It  was  hard  to  make  Juanita  understand  the 
situation,  and  the  necessity  of  parting;  but  when  she  had 
once  comprehended  that  she  was  to  be  abandoned  —  a  fate 
which,  to  her,  meant  simply  to  be  thrust  out  on  the  desert 
and  left  to  die  —  the  Indian  blood  flowed  faster  in  her  veins, 
and  rose  tumultuously  against  the  fair-faced  image  that  her 
heart  had  worshipped.  What  was  life  to  her  with  the  light  and 
warmth  gone  out  of  it?  He  was  leaving  her  to  die;  and  die 
she  would. 

When  the  little  cavalcade,  ready  and  equipped  for  the  march, 
was  about  to  leave  the  camp,  Juanita  was  nowhere  to  be  found. 
For  hours  the  captain  sought  her  in  every  nook  they  had  ex- 
plored together,  and  called  her  by  every  endearing  name  his 
fancy  had  created  for  her.  Juanita' s  pony  was  gone  from  his 
accustomed  place,  and  he  knew  it  would  be  useless  to  await 
her  return.  Captain  Castleton  was  not  a  coward ;  the  search- 
ing glances  he  sent  into  every  canon  they  passed,  and  among 
the  sparse  trees  on  their  road,  were  directed  by  the  burning 
desire  to  meet  the  dearly  loved  form  once  more;  but  they 
would  not  have  quaked  had  the  arrow  Juanita  knew  so  well  to 
speed,  sank  into  his  heart  instead. 

Days  passed  ere  Juanita  returned ;  and,  though  Screetah 
grovelled  at  her  feet  with  entreaties  not  to  leave  her  again,  and 
the  soldiers  showed  every  possible  kindness  and  attention  to 
the  girl,  she  was  seldom  seen  among  them.  ^Sometimes,  at 
the  close  of  day,  she  was  seen  suddenly  rising  from  some  crevice 
in  the  hill,  where  she  had  clambered  and  climbed  all  day  ;  but 
oftener  she  was  discovered  mounted  on  her  pony,  her  long, 
black  hair  streaming,  her  horse  in  full  gallop,  as  though  riding 
in  pursuit  of  the  setting  sun.  No  word  of  complaint  passed 
her  lips  ;  no  one  heard  her  draw  a  sigh,  or  saw  her  shed  a  tear ; 
6*  E 


66  OVERLAND    TALES. 

and  none  dared  to  speak  a  word  of  comfort.  But  when 
Screetah  tried  to  cheer  her,  one  day,  she  held  out  her  empty 
hands,  saying,  simply,  "  I  have  the  rosary  no  more  !  "  Then 
Screetah  knew  that  all  hope  was  lost,  and  she  pleaded  no 
more,  but  broke  the  beautiful,  sun-baked  pottery,  tore  the 
matting  from  the  floor,  and  crouched  by  the  threshold  from 
noon  to  night,  and  night  till  morning,  waiting  quietly  for  the 
silent  guest  that  she  knew  would  some  day,  soon,  enter  there 
with  Juanita. 

One  day,  she  came  slowly  down  from  the  hill  and  entered 
the  dark  adobe,  where  Screetah  sat  silent  by  the  door. 

"A  little  cloud  of  dust  is  rising  on  the  horizon,"  she  said 
to  the  old  Indian,  "and  I  must  prepare;"  and  Screetah 
only  wailed  the  death-song  of  her  race. 

Though  Juanita  had  returned  on  foot,  she  had  ridden  away 
on  the  pony  the  day  before,  and  the  soldiers  started  out  to 
look  for  the  animal,  thinking  it  had  escaped  from  her,  or  had 
been  stolen  by  some  marauding  Indian:  But  they  found  the 
carcass  not  far  from  camp  —  with  Juanita' s  dagger  in  the 
animal's  heart.  The  next  day  she  went  to  the  top  of  the  hill 
again,  and  when  night  came,  she  said,  "The  cloud  grows 
bigger."  On  the  third  day,  when  Juanita  lay  stretched  on 
the  hard,  uncomfortable  bed,  denuded  of  all  its  gay  robes 
and  blankets,  a  sudden  excitement  arose  outside,  such  as  the 
signs  of  anything  approaching  camp  always  create.  A  hundred 
different  opinions  were  expressed  as  to  what  and  who  it  could 
be.  Nearer  and  nearer  came  the  cloud  of  dust,  and  a  cry  of 
surprise  went  up,  as  the  horse  fell  from  fatigue  on  the  edge 
of  the  camp,  and  the  rider  took  his  way  to  old  Screetah's  hut. 

What  passed  within  those  dark,  low  walls  —  what  passion- 
ate appeals  for  forgiveness,  what  frantic  remorse  and  bitter 
self-accusations  they  echoed  —  only  Screetah  and  the  dying 
girl  knew.  The  old  Indian  was  touched,  and  tried  to  plead 
for  him ;  but  Juanita  seemed  tq,  heed  neither  the  man's  pres- 


JU  ANITA.  67 

ence  nor  the  woman's  entreaties.  She  died  "with  her  face 
to  the  wall,"  and  the  words  of  forgiveness,  which  he  had 
staked  life  and  honor  to  hear,  were  never  uttered  by  those 
firmly-closed  lips. 

With  the  day  of  Juanita's  death  commenced  the  old  Indian 
woman's  search  for  the  rosary,  and  she  tore  her  hair  in  des- 
peration when  they  laid  the  girl  in  her  narrow  cell  before  she 
had  found  it.  Day  after  day,  the  search  was  continued. 
Was  it  not  the  peace  of  Juanita's  soul  she  was  seeking  to 
restore  ?  After  awhile  the  camp  was  broken  up,  by  orders 
from  district  head-quarters,  and  a  forage-station  established. 
Our  friend,  whose  term  of  service  had  expired,  was  made 
station-keeper,  and,  one  by' one,  the  people  from  the  settle- 
ment followed  the  military,  till,  at  last,  only  he  and  old 
Screetah  were  left  of  all  the  little  band  that  once  had  filled 
the  dreary  spot  with  the  busy  hum  of  life. 


HETTY'S  HEROISM. 

BUT,  father,  you  don't  really  mean  to  watch  the  old  year 
out,  do  you?  It's  only  a  waste  of  candles,  and  the  boys 
won't  want  to  get  up  in  the  morning." 

"Mebbee  so,  mother;  but  New  Year's  Eve  don't  come 
every  day;  so  let's  have  it  out."  And  old  man  Sutton  tipped 
back  his  chair,  after  filling  his  pipe,  and  looked  contentedly 
up  at  the  white  ceiling  of  the  "  best  room." 

Johnny,  the  younger  son  of  the  family,  whistled  gleefully, 
threw  more  wood  on  the  blazing  pile  in  the  fire-place,  and 
then,  resuming  his  oft-forbidden  occupation  of  cracking  wal- 
nuts in  the  best  room,  said  : 

"Don't  the  wind  howl,  though?  Just  drives  the  rain. 
Golly,  ain't  it  nice  here?" 

"You're  not  to  say  bad  words,"  broke  out  his  mother, 
sharply.  "Father,  why  don't  you  correct  the  boy?  Such 
a  night  as  this,  too,  when  —  " 

"  What 's  that?  "  interrupted  the  oldest  son,  springing  from 
his  seat,  and  showing  a  straight,  manly  form  and  clear,  deep 
eyes,  as  he  stood  by  the  door  in  a  listening  attitude. 

"Coyotes,  brother  Frank;  the  ghosts  don't  come  round 
this  early,  do  they?"  laughed  the  younger. 

"  Hush,  Johnny !  It 's  some  one  crying  for  help  —  a  woman's 
voice  !  " 

"Tut,  tut !  where  would  a  woman  come  from  this  time  o' 
night,  and  not  a  house  within  miles  of  us?  " 

"A  woman's  voice,  I'll  stake  my  head,"  insisted  Frank, 
after  a  moment's  silence  in  the  room. 

68 


HE  TTY'S  HEROISM.  69 

The  mother  had  laid  down  her  glasses.  "  Wonder  if  the 
boy  thinks  Lolita  is  coming  through  the  storm  to  watch  the 
old  year  out  with  him?"  She  laughed  as  at  something  that 
gave  her  much  pleasure,  though  the  rest  did  not  share  her 
merriment. 

They  were  all  three  listening  at  door  and  window  now,  and 
when  Frank  threw  the  one  nearest  him  quickly  open,  there 
came  a  sound  through  the  din  and  fury  of  the  rain-storm  that 
was  neither  the  howling  of  the  wind  nor  the  yelp  of  the 
coyote. 

"  Now  what  do  you  say?  "  asked  Frank;  and  he  had  already 
passed  through  an  inner  apartment,  and  in  a  moment  stood 
on  the  porch  again,  swinging  a  lantern  and  peering  out  into 
the  dark  and  rain,  listening  for  that  cry  of  distress.  It  came 
in  a  moment  —  nearer  than  they  had  expected  it. 

"  Help  !  help !  oh,  please  come  and  help !  " 

"  The  d — 1 !  "  was  old  man  Button's  exclamation ;  not  that 
he  really  thought  the  slender  little  figure  perched  on  the  back 
of  the  tall  horse  was  the  personage  mentioned  —  it  was  only 
a  habit  he  had  of  apostrophizing. 

The  horse  had  stopped  short  and  was  breathing  hard,  and 
the  prayer  for  help  was  frantically  repeated  by  the  rider. 
"Come  quick,  and  help  the  poor  fellow;  I've  been  gone  so 
long  from  him  —  oh  !  do  come  !  " 

"What  poor  fellow — and  where  is  he?"  asked  the  old 
man,  in  bewilderment. 

"  The  stage-driver  —  and  he  's  lying  near  the  old  Mission, 
with  his  leg  broken.  The  horses  shied  in  the  storm  and 
overturned  the  stage,  and  I  was  the  only  passenger,  and  I 
crept  out  of  it,  and  the  driver  couldn't  move  any  more,  and 
told  me  to  unhitch  .the  horses  and  come  this  way  for  help, 
and  —  oh  !  do  come  now  !  ' '  She  ended  her  harangue,  delivered 
with  flying  breath  and  little  attention  to  rhetoric  or  inter- 
punctuation. 


70  OVERLAND    TALES. 

"And  you  came  those  nine  miles  all  alone,  gal?"  asked 
the  old  man. 

"Oh,  I  think  I  must  have  come  a  hundred  miles,"  she 
replied,  with  a  wild  look  at  the  faces  on  the  porch  and  in  the 
open  doorway;  "and  it  is  so  cold  !  "  She  drew  the  dripping 
garments  closer  about  her,  while  father  and  son  consulted 
together,  with  their  eyes  only,  for  a  brief  moment.  Then 
the  old  man  said  she  must  be  taken  in,  and  they  must  get  the 
wagon  ready,  and  waken  Pedro  and  Martin, 

Without  a  word  Frank  gave  a  lantern  to  Johnny,  lifted  the 
girl  from  the  horse  and  carried  her  into  the  room,  brushing 
the  drenched  hair  back  from  her  face,  when  he  sat  her  down, 
as  he  would  have  done  a  child's.  But  she  pleaded  excitedly, 
"  Indeed  I  cannot  stay  —  let  me  go  back,  and  you  can  follow. ' ' 

"So  you  shall  go  back,  my  gal,"  said  Mr.  Sutton,  "as 
soon  as  the  wagon  is  ready.  See  how  she 's  shivering, 
mother ;  get  her  some  hot  tea,  and  give  her  your  fur  sack  — 
for  she'll  go  back  with  us  or  die." 

"My  fur  sack?"  repeated  the  old  lady,  incredulously; 
"  my  best  sack  —  out  in  this  rain  !  " 

"  Best  sack  be ,"  he  shouted,  angrily;  "  I  '11  throw  it 

in  the  fire  in  a  minute  !  "  And  the  best  sack  quickly  made 
its  appearance,  in  spite  of  the  threat  of  speedy  cremation. 

The  tea  was  brought  by  Johnny,  hastily  drank,  and  then 
the  girl  repeated  her  wish  to  move  on.  Frank's  own  cloak 
was  thrown  over  "the  best  fur  sack"— not,  I  fear,  so  much 
from  a  desire  to  save  this  garment  as  from  the  wish  to  keep 
the  shrinking  form  in  it  from  shivering  so  painfully. 

It  was  New- Year's  day— though  the  light  had  not  yet 
dawned  before  the  sufferer  was  comfortably  lodged  at  the 
Yedral  Ranch,  and  Hetty,  as  well  as  the  Sutton  family,  slept 
later  into  the  morning  than  usual.  The  sun  had  risen  as 
serenely  cloudless  as  though  no  storm  had  passed  through  the 
land  but  yesternight;  and  Father  Sutton,  thinking  he  was  the 


HETTY'S  HEROISM.  ?l 

first  one  up,  was  surprised  to  encounter  Hetty  with  Johnny, 
her  new-found  cavalier.  He  hailed  her  in  his  unceremonious 
fashion:  "I'm  glad  to  see  you  up  bright  and  early,  gal  — 
make  a  good  farmer's  wife  some  day.  Did  you  come  down 
this  way  to  live  on  a  ranch?  " 

"  No,  sir;  I  came  to  teach  school.  Your  name  is  among 
those  of  the  gentlemen  who  engaged  me." 

"  The !  Are  you  the  new  school-marm  ?  Then  you  're 

Miss—" 

"  Hetty  Dunlap  is  my  name." 

He  held  out  both  hands.  "A  happy  New- Year  to  ye, 
Hetty  Dunlap  —  and  happy  it  '11  be  for  all  of  us,  I  'm  think- 
ing; fora  gal  that's  got  so  much  pluck  as  you  is  sure  to 
know  something  about  teachin'  school.  Here,  Johnny,  how 
d  'ye  like  your  teacher  ?  " 

Now,  Johnny  had  drawn  back  with  some  slight  manifesta- 
tion of  disfavor  when  Hetty's  true  character  came  to  light. 
But  she  laid  her  hand  on  his  shoulder  in  her  shy  yet  frank 
manner,  and  said  quickly  : 

"  I  had  already  selected  Johnny  as  a  sort  of  assistant  disci- 
plinarian. I  am  so  little  that  I  shall  want  some  one  who  is 
tall  and  strong  to  give  me  countenance;"  which  at  once 
restored  the  harmony  between  them.  They  went  in  to  break- 
fast together,  during  which  meal  it  was  decided  by  Father 
Sutton  that  Hetty  was  to  live  in  his  family,  though  "  the 
Price's  "  was  the  place  where,  until  now,  the  teachers  had 
made  their  home,  being  nearest  to  the  school. 

"But  then,"  said  the  old  man,  "if  the  Rancho  Yedral 
can't  afford  a  mustang  for  such  a  brave  little  rider  every  day 
of  the  year,  then  I  '11  give  it  up ;  "  and  he  slapped  his  hat  on 
and  left  the  house. 

"Yes,"  Frank  commented  rather  timidly,  "you  are  brave 
—  a  perfect  heroine.  And  yet  you  are  so  very  small."  She 
was  standing  in  just  the  spot  where  he  had  brushed  the  hair 


72  OVERLAND    TALES. 

out  of  her  face  last  night,  and  perhaps  his  words  were  an 
apology. 

"True,"  she  assented,  "I  am  small;  not  much  taller  than 
my  sister's  oldest  girl,  and  she  is  only  twelve." 

"You  have  a  sister?" 

"Yes,  in  the  city;  and  she  has  six  children."  Her  voice 
was  raised  a  little,  her  nut-brown  eyes  looked  into  his  with 
an  unconscious  appeal  for  sympathy,  and  her  delicate  nostrils 
quivered  as  in  terror  —  which  the  bare  recollection  of  the 
little  heathens  seemed  to  inspire  her  with. 

"And  did  you  live  at  her  house?  —  have  you  neither  father 
nor  mother  living?  " 

"  Neither.  How  happy  you  must  be  —  you  have  so  kind  a 
father  and  so  good  a  mother  — " 

The  "good  mother"  came  in  just  then,  shaking  her  best 
sack  vigorously,  and  lamenting,  in  pointed  words,  the  "ruin- 
ation "  of  this  expensive  fur  robe  —  calling  a  painful  blush  to 
Hetty's  cheek  as  well  as  Frank's.  The  young  man  tried 
vainly  to  make  it  appear  a  pleasant  joke.  "  Indeed,  mother, 
you  ought  to  look  upon  that  piece  of  fur  as  a  handsome  New- 
Year's  gift  —  you  have  my  promise  of  a  new  fur  sack  as  soon 
as  I  go  to  the  city.  And  is  n't  my  word  good  for  a  fur  sack  ?  " 
he  asked,  laughingly. 

"Yes,"  said  the  good  mother.  "I  know  your  extrava- 
gance well  enough ;  but,  to  my  notion,  you  can  afford  such 
things  better  after  you've  married  Lolita,  than  before." 

Frank  bit  his  lips  angrily,  and  turned  away  —  but  not  before 
Hetty  had  seen  the  hot  red  that  flushed  his  cheek. 

Toward  noon  there  was  loud  rejoicing  on  the  porch,  and 
Hetty,  looking  from  her  window,  saw  Mrs.  Sutton  welcoming 
a  tall,  dark-eyed  girl  of  about  twenty,  whose  companion  — 
her  brother,  to  all  appearance  —  seemed  several  years  her 
senior. 

This   girl,    Lolita  Selden,  the   daughter  of  an  American 


HETTY'S  HER  OISM,  73 

father  and  a  wealthy  Spanish  mother,  was  a  fair  specimen  of 
the  large  class  represented  by  her  in  California.  Generous 
and  impulsive,  as  all  her  Spanish  half-sisters  are,  neither  her 
piecemeal  education,  nor  the  foolish  indulgence  of  the  mother, 
had  succeeded  in  making  anything  of  her  but  an  impetuous, 
though  really  kind-hearted  woman.  In  the  brother's  darker, 
heavier  face,  there  was  less  of  candor  and  sympathy,  and  his 
figure  —  though  he  had  all  the  grace  and  dignity  of  the  Span- 
iard —  was  lacking  in  height  and  the '  breadth  of  shoulder 
that  made  Frank  Sutton  look  a  giant  beside  him. 

It  was  some  time  before  our  heroine  was  introduced  to  the 
pair;  not,  indeed,  till  dinner  was  on  the  table,  though  Frank 
had  repeatedly  hinted  to  his  mother  that  Hetty  might  not  feel 
at  liberty  to  make  her  appearance  among  them  without  being 
formally  invited  —  to  which  he  received  the  cheering  re- 
sponse that  "  he  was  always  botherin'." 

When  they  met,  it  was  hard  to  say  whether  Hetty  was  more 
charmed  with  Lolita's  stately  presence  and  simple  kindness, 
or  Lolita  with  Hetty's  heroism.  The  brother,  too,  seemed 
lost  in  admiration  of  Hetty's  heroic  conduct  or  Hetty's  pretty 
face  —  a  fact  which  escaped  neither  Frank  nor  his  mother,  for 
she  commented  on  it  days  afterward.  "What  a  chance  it 
would  be  for  a  poor  girl  like  this  'ere  one,  if  she  could  make 
a  ketch  of  young  Selden,  and  he  married  her  !  " 

"  What !  that  black-faced  Spaniard  ?  "  but  Frank's  generous 
heart  reproached  him  even  while  he  spoke,  and  his  mother 
took  advantage  of  his  penitence  and  charged  him  with  a  mes- 
sage to  Lolita,  that  needed  to  be  delivered  the  same  day. 
When,  therefore,  after  school-hours,  Frank  returned  bringing 
with  him  both  Hetty  and  Lolita  —  the  latter  was  visiting  her 
new  friend  at  the  school-house  —  the  mother  was  well  pleased, 
and  spoke  more  kindly  than  she  had  yet  spoken  to  the  new 
teacher. 

"Old  man"  Sutton,  too,  had  many  a  pleasant  word  for 
7 


74  OVERLAND    TALES. 

both  young  girls  ;  and  altogether  Hetty  soon  realized  that 
home  could  be  home  away  from  her  sister's  house  and  the  six 
plagues  it  held. 

Spring  came  into  the  land,  dressing  in  glossier  green  the 
grayish  limbs  of  the  white-oak  in  the  valley,  opening  with 
balmy  breath  the  blossoms  of  the  buckeye  by  the  stream,  and 
covering  with  gayest  flowers  the  plain  and  the  hillside ;  while 
in  some  shady  nook  the  laurel  stood,  shaking  its  evergreen 
leaves  in  daily  wonderment  at  the  dress  changes  and  the 
youthful  air  all  nature  had  put  on.  The  wild  rose  creep- 
ing over  the  veranda  of  the  Yedral  Ranch  shed  its  perfume 
through  the  house,  and  cast  its  bright  sheen  upon  the  very 
roof-tree,  a  passion-vine,  in  sombre  contrast,  rearing  its  sym- 
bolic blossom  cheek  to  cheek  with  the  rosy  flower-face  of  the 
gay  child  of  Castile. 

Long  since  had  the  stage-driver  left  the  Yedral  Ranch, 
grateful  for  kind  treatment  received,  his  head  and  heart  full 
of  a  firm  conviction  on  two  points :  The  first,  that  there  was 
just  one  man  good  enough  to  be  Hetty  Dunlap's  husband, 
and  that  that  man  was  Frank  Sutton  :  the  second,  that  there 
was  only  one  woman  good  enough  to  be  Frank's  wife,  and  she 
Hetty  Dunlap. 

He  had  resumed  his  old  post,  and  many  a  pleasant  word 
and  startling  bit  of  news  did  he  call  out  to  Hetty  and  her 
friends  when  they  were  down  by  the  "  big  gate,"  as  he  drove 
by  very  slowly,  so  as  to  enjoy  conversation  as  long  as  possible. 
George  was  a  deal  pleasanter  when  Hetty  was  there  by  her- 
self, or  at  least  without  Lolita ;  and  once,  when,  by  chance, 
Hetty  and  Frank  were  there  alone  together,  he  called  down, 
regardless  of  the  staring  passengers  in  the  coach,  ''That's 
the  way  I  like  to  see  things;  two's  good  company,  and 
three's  none.  Don't  see  what  you  want  to  be  luggin'  that 
Spanish  gal  round  with  you  for,  Frank;  she  ain't  none  o' 
your'n  nohow,  and  never  will  be,  nuther." 


HETTY'S  HEROISM.  75 

Before  the  flush  had  died  on  her  face,  Hetty  found  her  arm 
drawn  through  Frank's,  and  as  they  slowly  bent  their  steps 
homeward,  the  mind  of  each  seemed  absorbed  in  the  con- 
templation of  some  intricate  puzzle,  on  the  solving  of  which 
depended  their  whole  future  welfare.  Then  Frank  raised  his 
merry,  twinkling  eyes  and  charged  her  with  being  hopelessly 
enamored  of  George,  the  stage-driver,  defying  her  to  say 
that  she  had  not  just  then  been  thinking  of  him,  as  he  knew 
by  her  absent  looks. 

"I  —  I  was  only  looking  down  that  way,  and  thinking 
there  is  no  lovelier  spot  on  earth  than  Yedral  Ranch."  She 
stopped  abruptly;  what  she  was  saying  now  to  cover  her  con- 
fusion, she  had  said  a  'few  days  ago,  from  the  fulness  of  her 
heart,  to  Lolita,  strolling  along  this  same  road ;  and  the 
Spanish  girl  had  answered  impulsively,  "Yes;  and  you  shall 
always  make  your  home  here  when  I  — "  Then  she  had 
stopped,  crimson  in  the  face,  and  Hetty  had  not  urged  her  to 
finish  the  sentence. 

But  Frank,  with  quickly  altered  tone,  asked  softly,  "  Do 
you  like  it  so  well,  Hetty  —  really  and  truly?  And  have  you 
not  wanted  often  to  go  back  to  the  city?" 

"To  the  city?"  she  repeated,  with  a  little  shiver;  "no — no! " 

The  call  of  a  partridge  from  behind  the  nearest  manzanita 
bush  warned  them  that  young  Johnny  was  there,  and  the 
next  moment  he  appeared  before  them  —  his  mother's  ambas- 
sador to  Hetty.  "  Would  she  be  kind  enough  just  for  once 
to  help  with  the  cake  ?  His  mother  had  burnt  her  right  hand, 
and  she  could  not  stir  the  batter  with  her  left." 

"And  could  not  you  have  done  it  'just  for  once'  as  well?  " 
asked  Frank,  impatiently ;  at  which  question  Johnny  opened 
his  eyes  wide. 

"She  didn't  ask  me,"  he  said;  and  then  they  all  went 
silently  to  the  house. 

To  do  Mrs.  Sutton  justice,  she  was  loud  in  her  praises  of 


76  OVERLAND    TALES. 

Hetty's  obliging  disposition,  and  Hetty's  proficiency  in  cake- 
baking,  that  evening  at  tea;  and  particularly  to  Julian 
Selden,  who  was  there  with  his  sister,  did  she  untiringly  sing 
Hetty's  perfections.  This  seemed  to  have  the  effect  of 
making  the  young  Spaniard  bolder  and  more  desirous  of 
pushing  his  suit,  for  the  very  next  evening  they  came  home 
from  Hetty's  school  a  partie  carrte — Lolita,  her  brother, 
Hetty  and  Frank. 

The  facts  of  the  case  were  that,  following  a  suggestion  of 
Frank's,  Johnny,  on  Julian's  second  attempt  to  escort  Hetty 
home,  had  kept  close  by  her  side  during  the  whole  ride, 
much  more  to  Hetty's  delight  than  Julian's.  In  consequence, 
Julian  had  been  wise  enough  to  bring  Lolita  with  him ;  and 
Frank,  though  chagrined,  was  better  pleased  to  find  them 
both  at  Hetty's  school  than  one  alone. 

Through  the  spring  and  far  into  the  summer  they  met 
almost  daily  in  this  way;  and  sometimes,  though  Mother 
Button's  invitations  to  Lolita  and  her  brother  to  "come  every 
day  —  every  day,"  were  loud  and  vociferous,  the  brother  and 
sister  would  return  to  their  own  home  after  a  protracted  ride, 
leaving  Hetty  and  Frank  to  find  their  way  back  to  Yedral 
Ranch  alone.  Hetty  thought  she  could  see  a  cloud  on  Mrs. 
Button's  brow  whenever  this  happened ;  and  dear  as  those 
rides  were  to  her,  she  avoided  them  whenever  she  could. 
Unhappily  (Frank  did  not  consider  it  so),  while  out  alone 
together  one  day,  Hetty's  saddle-girth  broke,  and  though 
she  sprang  quickly  to  the  ground,  Frank's  nerves  were  so 
unstrung,  he  declared,  that  he  could  not  at  once  repair  the 
damage,  but  had  to  convince  himself,  by  slow  degrees,  that 
she  really  was  not  hurt  or  frightened.  Consequently,  it  was 
later  than  usual  when  they  reached  home  ;  and  Mother  Sutton, 
darting  a  quick  look  to  see  that  the  door  had  closed  behind 
Frank,  who  had  explained  the  cause  of  delay,  muttered  some- 
thing about  "cunning  minxes,  who  had  neither  gratitude  nor 


HETTY'S  HEROISM.  77 

shame,"  and  then  tramped  out  of  the  room,  leaving  Hetty 
with  cheeks  burning  and  eyes  strangely  bright  under  the  tears 
rising  in  them. 

Next  morning  she  made  much  ado  over  a  sprained  ankle, 
which  was  not  so  painful  as  to  keep  her  at  home,  but  just  bad 
enough  to  cause  her  to  ride  slowly  to  school  with  Johnny  and 
home  again  before  school-hours  were  fairly  over.  I  fear  that 
she  was  a  "  designing  minx,"  for,  if  she  managed,  by  keeping 
her  room  to  evade  Frank's  questioning  glance  and  Mother 
Button's  hostile  looks,  she  managed  no  less  to  escape  an  honor 
which,  according  to  this  good  lady's  statement,  corroborated 
by  Lolita's  more  than  usual  tenderness,  Julian  Selden  had 
meant  to  confer  upon  her.  But  she  could  not  stay  in  her 
room  forever ;  and  Father  Button  dragged  her  out  of  it  one 
day,  challenging  her  to  tell  the  truth  ("and  shame  the 
devil  "),  by  acknowledging  that  something  had  hurt  her  be- 
side the  sprained  ankle.  Had  Mrs.  Sutton  shown  no  spite 
openly  against  "the  gal"  before,  it  broke  out  now,  in  little 
sharp  speeches  against  women  "  tryin'  to  work  on  the  sympa- 
thy of  foolish  young  men.  Her  boys,  she  knew,  could  n't 
never  be  ketched  that  way  by  no  white-faced  — " 

"Will  yer  be  still  now!  "  thundered  the  old  man,  taking 
the  pipe  from  between  his  lips  and  pointing  with  it  to  Hetty, 
who  at  this  moment  was  really  the  white-faced  thing  the  old 
lady  had  meant  to  call  her. 

"Johnny,"  said  Hetty,  next  morning,  on  their  way  to 
school,  "I  think — I  '11  go  home  when  vacation  begins,  and — " 

"  Why,  what  d'  you  mean?"  asked  the  boy,  startled  out  of 
all  proper  respect. 

"Just  what  I  say;"  and  she  enumerated  her  reasons  for 
considering  it  her  duty  to  return  to  her  lonely  sister  and  the 
six  pining  children ;  and  it  was  a  matter  of  doubt  whether 
Johnny's  lips  quivered  more  during  the  recital,  or  Hetty's. 
But  when  the  school-house  was  reached,  Johnny  was  a  man 
7* 


;8  OVERLAND    TALES. 

again ;  and  if  he  did  blubber  out  loud  when  he  told  his  elder 
brother  of  it,  late  in  the  evening,  down  by  the  big  gate,  no- 
body but  Frank  heard  him,  and  his  lips  were  rather  white 
when  next  he  spoke. 

"  You  asked  me  for  that  Mexican  saddle  of  mine  some  time 
ago,  Johnny.  You  are  welcome  to  it." 

"I  don't  want  no  Mexican  saddle,"  replied  Johnny,  in  a 
surly  tone,  and  without  grammar;  but  looking  into  his 
brother's  face,  he  said,  "  Thank  you,  Frank.  I  'd  say  you  're 
'bully,'  only  Hetty  said  it  wasn't  a  nice  word." 

In  the  course  of  the  week  Father  Sutton,  in  his  character 
as  such,  and  as  school  director,  was  made  acquainted  with 
Hetty's  intention.  In  both  characters  he  protested  at  first,  but 
yielded  at  last.  He  walked  out  with  "  the  gal  "  one  evening, 
as  though  to  take  her  over  the  ranch  for  the  last  time,  and 
then  artfully  dodged  away  when  Frank  —  by  the  merest  acci- 
dent —  came  to  join  them.  Left  alone  with  this  young  man, 
Hetty  trembled,  as  she  had  learned  to  tremble  under  his 
mother's  scowling  looks  and  half-spoken  sentences.  He  spoke 
quietly,  at  first,  of  her  going  away ;  but  her  very  quietness 
seemed  after  a  while  to  set  him  all  on  fire. 

"Hetty,"  he  cried,  "are  you  then  so  anxious  to  go  —  so 
unwilling  to  stay,  even  for  a  day,  after  the  school  closes  ?  Is 
there  nothing  —  is  there  no  one  here  you  regret  to  leave  be- 
hind you?" 

Poor  little  Hetty  !  How  they  had  praised  her  for  her  he- 
roism once.  There  was  no  praise  due  her  then,  as  she  had 
protested  again  and  again.  Now  she  was  the  heroine,  when 
she  answered,  though  with  averted  face  and  smothered  voice, 
"Nothing  —  no  one;"  adding,  quickly,  "you  have  all  been 
so  kind  to  me  that  naturally  I  shall  feel  homesick  for  the 
Yedral  Ranch,  and  shall  be  so  glad  to  see  any  of  you  when 
you  come  to  the  city." 

Frank  had  heard  "  the  tears  in  her  voice,"  and  though  he 


HETTY'S  HEROISM.  79 

turned  from  her  abruptly,  it  was  not  in  anger,  as  she  fan- 
cied. 

"  Father,"  he  said,  a  day  or  two  later,  "  I  don't  know  but 
I'll  take  a  run  over  the  mountains,  now  harvesting  is  over, 
and  there  seems  nothing  particular  for  me  to  do." 

"Please  yourself  and  you'll  please  me,  Frank,"  was  the 
answer.  "  Got  any  money?  You  kin  git  it  when  you  want 
it."v 

Then  there  was  nothing  more  said  about  the  journey,  and 
Frank,  making  no  further  preparations,  seemed  to  have  for- 
gotten all  about  it. 

When  Hetty  was  lifted  into  the  little  wagon  that  took  her- 
self and  trunk  to  the  big  gate,  she  repeated  her  hope  of  sooner 
or  later  greeting  the  members  of  the  Sutton  family  in  San 
Francisco. 

"Not  soon,  I'm  afeard,  Miss  Hetty;  me  an'  father  and 
Johnny  never  goes  to  the  city,  and  as  for  Frank  —  I  reckon 
he'll  want  to  git  married  first,  and  bring  Lolita  'long  with 
him." 

Martin,  who  was  driving,  probably  knew  the  meaning  of 
the  fire  in  the  old  man's  eye,  for  he  whipped  up  the  horse  and 
drove  off,  as  though  "fearing  to  miss  the  stage,"  as  he.  ex- 
plained at  the  turn  of  the  road. 

Altogether,  George  showed  neither  as  much  surprise  nor 
pleasure  as  Hetty  had  faintly  expected  him  to  evince.  When 
they  reached  the  first  town  he  came  and  stood  by  the  open 
coach  window,  after  the  customary  halt,  drawing  on  his  gloves 
first,  and  then  pointing  out,  with  great  exactitude,  where  the 
old  adobe  tavern  had  formerly  stood,  on  the  opposite  side  of 
the  street. 

During  this  interesting  conversation,  some  tardy  passengers 
came  out  of  the  hotel,  with  hasty  steps,  and  mounted  to  the 
top  of  the  stage  with  much  hurried  scrambling.  Then  George 
left  Hetty's  window,  mounted  his  throne,  and  drove  on. 


8o  OVERLAND    TALES. 

We  need  not  say  how  Hetty's  heart  sank  with  the  sinking 
sun ;  and  only  when  George  came  out  of  the  station-house 
where  they  had  taken  supper,  ready  and  equipped  for  the 
night's  drive,  did  a  light  rise  in  her  eyes. 

"I  thought  you  stopped  at  this  station,"  she  said,  as  he 
again  leaned  at  her  window,  while  the  same  hasty  steps  and 
confused  scrambling  on  the  top  of  the  stage  fell,  half  uncon- 
sciously, on  her  ear. 

« \yeii —  yes.  As  a  general  thing,  I  do.  But  me  and 
Dick's  changed  off  to-night,  so  't  I  can  see  you  into  the  cars 
to-morrow  morning." 

"  How  tired  you  will  be,"  she  remonstrated. 
"  Well  —  mebbe  so.     Howsomever,  Miss  Hetty,  you  did  n't 
stop  to  think  whether  you  'd  be  tired  when  you  started  out  to 
find  help  for  me,  last  New- Year's  eve."     And  Hetty  blushed, 
as  she  always  did,  when  her  heroism  was  spoken  of. 

George's  eyes  did  look  heavy  the  next  morning;  but  he 
still  kept  the  lines,  lounging  up  to  the  coach-window  about 
the  time  the  stage  was  ready  to  start,  and  always  pointing  out 
something  of  interest  on  these  occasions.  Once,  indeed,  when 
she  fancied  that  her  ear  caught  the  sound  of  a  familiar  foot- 
fall on  the  porch  of  the  tavern  they  were  about  to  leave,  he 
was  so  anxious  she  should  see  the  owl  just  vanishing  into  the 
squirrel-hole,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  road,  that  he  laid 
his  hand  on  her  arm  to  insure  her  quick  attention,  just  as  she 
was  about  to  turn  her  head  back  in  the  direction  of  the  porch. 
Then  came  the  usual  climbing  and  scrambling  overhead,  and 
directly  George  mounted,  too,  and  drove  on. 

The  shrill  whistle  of  the  locomotive  seemed  to  cut  right 
through  Hetty's  heart;  and  the  loneliness  she  had  never  felt 
away  down  the  country,  now  suddenly  took  possession  of  the 
girl's  soul.  No  one  could  have  been  more  attentive  than 
George  ;  the  best  seat  in  the  cars  was  picked  out  for  her ;  the 
daily  papers  laid  beside  her,  and  then  — then  she  was  left 


HETTY'S  HEROISM.  8l 

alone.  George  only,  of  all  her  down-country  friends,  had  made 
the  unconditional  promise  to  visit  her  in  San  Francisco.  She 
was  thinking  of  this  after  he  had  left  her,  and  she  sat  watch- 
ing the  cars  filling  with  passengers  for  the  city  —  travellers 
gathered  together  here  from  watering-place  and  pleasure- 
resort,  from  dairy-ranch  and  cattle-range.  Was  there  another 
being  among  these  all  as  lonely  as  she?  And  she  turned  her 
face  to  the  window,  and  looked  steadily  over  toward  the  hills, 
yellow  and  parched  now,  in  the  late  summer  —  so  fresh  and 
green  from  the  winter's  rains  when  she  had  last  seen  them. 
It  looked  as  if  her  life,  too,  were  in  the  "sere  and  yellow;  " 
the  heavy,  throbbing  pain  that  was  in  her  heart  and  rising  to 
her  throat  —  would  it  ever  give  place  again  to  the  bright 
fancies  she  had  indulged  in  when  coming  this  way  —  oh  !  how 
many  weeks  ago?  She  tried  to  count;  but  counting  the  weeks 
brought  the  events  of  each  in  turn  before  her,  and  she  desisted ; 
she  must  keep  a  calm  face  and  a  clear  eye. 

She  heard  the  cry  of  the  fruit-venders  outside,  and  saw  their 
baskets  laden  with  fruits,  tempting  and  delicious,  raised  to  the 
car-windows,  where  passengers  had  signified  their  wish  to  pur- 
chase. Mechanically,  her  eyes  followed  the  movements  of  the 
young  man  in  front  of  her.  Grapes,  with  the  dew  still  on 
them ;  apples,  with  one  red  cheek,  and  peaches  with  two ; 
plums,  larger  than  either,  and  far  more  luscious,  were  trans- 
ferred from  the  heavy  basket  into  the  lap  of  the  lady  beside 
him  —  evidently  his  new-made  wife  —  who  said,  "Thanks, 
dear,"  with  such  a  happy,  grateful  smile,  that  Hetty  grew 
quite  envious.  She  tried  to  think  it  was  of  the  fruit ;  but 
pending  the  decision  she  laid  her  head  on  the  back  of  the  seat 
in  front  of  her,  and  before  she  thought  of  what  she  was  doing, 
the  tears  were  trickling  down  her  cheeks.  Then  her  shoul- 
ders began  to  jerk  quite  ridiculously,  and  she  was  ready  to  die 
of  shame,  when  a  light  hand  was  laid  on  them,  and  her  name 
was  spoken. 

F 


82  OVERLAND    TALES. 

"  Hetty  !  "  the  voice  said  again  ;  but  she  did  not  raise  her 
head,  only  answering,  "Yes,"  as  she  would  have  done  in  a 
dream. 

"Hetty!"  once  more,  "see  what  I  have  brought  you." 
Apples,  and  peaches,  and  plums  — all  these  things  were  show- 
ered into  her  lap,  and  when  she  raised  her  head,  she  looked 
at  them  steadily  a  moment,  and  then  said,  with  a  long  breath, 
"Oh,  Frank!  "  before  she  turned  to  where  he  sat.  As  she 
stretched  out  both  hands  to  meet  his,  the  fruit,  now  forgotten, 
fell  plump,  plump,  to  the  floor,  and  rolled  all  over  the  cars ; 
and  when  the  train  moved  slowly  away  from  the  depot  a  little 
.later,  Hetty,  looking  up  at  the  lady  in  front  of  her,  said  to 
herself,  that  she  envied  her  no  longer  —  neither  the  apples 
nor — .  She  made  a  full  stop  here ;  perhaps  because  of  George's 
sudden  appearance,  and  the  hilarity  in  which  he  and  Frank 
indulged. 

"Oh,  Miss  Hetty  !  "  he  laughed  ;  "I  couldn't  make  you 
see  that  owl  this  morning,  could  I  ?" 

"  No ;  but  I  think  I  must  have  been  as  blind  as  an  owl  my- 
self, not  to  have  seen  whom  you  were  hiding,"  she  answered, 
taking  the  contagion. 

Again  shrieked  the  locomotive,  but  not  with  the  "  heart- 
rending "  cry  of  a  while  ago;  and  George,  bringing  their 
hands  quickly  together  in  his  parting  clasp,  sprang  from  the 
cars  and  left  Frank  and  Hetty  there. 

Loud  was  the  anger  of  good  Mrs.  Sutton  on  discovering 
that  Frank  had  accompanied  Hetty  to  San  Francisco.  In 
vain  Father  Sutton  disclaimed  all  fore-knowledge  of  the 
young  man's  intention,  and  asserted  that  Frank  had  never 
mentioned  a  tour  to  the  city.  Mrs.  Sutton  said  she  knew 
the  old  man  was  in  league  with  him.  At  the  end  of  a  week 
Frank  returned  without  so  much  as  bringing  the  fur  sack  as 
a  peace-offering.  In  course  of  time  he  reconciled  his  mother 
to  some  extent  by  again  carrying  messages  to  Lolita,  and 


HETTY'S  HEROISM.  83 

sometimes  bringing  Lolita  herself  in  return,  just  as  in  Hetty's 
time. 

Autumn  came ;  and  still,  to  the  determined  schemer's  dis- 
satisfaction, Frank  had  not  yet  secured  the  prize  she  so  cov- 
eted for  him.  The  season  brought  with  it  many  cares  as  well 
as  pleasures  to  the  ranchero.  At  a  rodeo,  looked  upon  by  the 
young  people  generally  as  a  pleasant  entertainment,  Frank  was 
the  admired  of  many  eyes,  as  his  lasso  unfailingly  singled  out 
the  animal  "in  demand,"  among  the  dense  herds  moving 
in  a  circle.  The  horse  he  rode  was  full  of  fire,  and  more  im- 
petuous, if  possible,  than  his  rider;  and  Lolita,  who  was 
among  the  guests  at  the  Yedral  Ranch,  had  never  thought 
Frank  so  handsome  and  so  well  worth  winning  before. 

To  Hetty  the  white  walls  and  the  spacious  rooms  of  the 
grammar-school,  to  which  she  had  returned,  seemed  a  prison 
and  a  wilderness  in  one.  Her  sister's  house,  with  the  six 
young  Tartars,  was  more  like  Bedlam  than  ever ;  but  Hetty 
had  grown  older  and  firmer,  and  she  declared,  to  her  sister's 
amazement,  that  unless  she  could  withdraw  herself  from  the 
mob  unmolested,  at  her  option,  she  should  seek  a  home  with 
more  congenial  associates.  The  sister  opened  her  eyes  wide, 
as  if  only  now  discovering  that  Hetty  was  full-grown ;  and 
she  assented  silently. 

First,  after  her  return,  letters  from  Frank  lighted  up  her  life 
at  intervals.  But  when  the  early  rains  of  autumn,  after  an 
Indian  summer  full  of  sunny  days  and  glorious  memories  of 
vanished  springs,  turned  to  the  settled  melancholy  of  "  a  wet 
winter,"  these  letters  ceased,  leaving  in  Hetty's  existence  a 
blank  that  nothing  else  could  fill.  Christmas  came,  with  its 
vacations  and  merry-makings,  and  beside  the  dull,  deep  pain 
in  Hetty's  heart,  there  was  still  the  unselfish  wish  to  give 
others  pleasure,  though  she  herself  could  never  again  feel  that 
glad  emotion.  From  morn  to  night  her  deft  hands  flew,  sew- 
ing, stitching,  sketching  —  busy  always,  yet  never  for  herself. 


84  OVERLAND    TALES. 

It  was  very  near  Christmas  now — so  near  that  Hetty,  eager  to 
have  all  things  ready  for  the  joyous  eve,  had  sat  down  to  her 
work  without  the  usual  care  for  neat  appearance.  Perhaps  it 
was  because  her  curls  were  a  little  neglected,  and  her  collar 
was  not  pinned  on  with  the  usual  precision,  that  her  face 
looked  worn  this  morning ;  her  eyes  were  languid,  and  the 
flush  on  her  cheeks  could  not  cover  the  deficiency  of  flesh 
which  became  painfully  visible. 

Thus  she  sat,  stitching,  ever  stitching.  The  silent  parlor, 
with  its  covered  furniture  and  light  carpeting,  seemed  the  right 
place  for  ghosts  to  flit  through,  and  peer,  mayhap,  with  dull, 
glazed  eyes  into  the  fire,  as  Hetty  caught  herself  just  now. 
But  she  drove  back  the  ghosts — are  they  not  always  our  own 
memories,  woven  out  of  unfulfilled  wishes,  useless  regrets,  and 
profitless  remorse  ?  —  and  hastily  resumed  her  work.  The 
ringing  of  the  door-bell  seemed  so  much  the  doing  of  one  of 
these  ghosts,  that  she  paid  no  attention  to  it,  but  kept  on 
stitching,  quietly  stitching.  Directly  the  parlor-door  was 
thrown  open,  and  the  Mongolian  servitor,  looking  with  calm 
indifference  on  the  little  streams  of  muddy  water  oozing  at 
every  step  from  the  boots  of  the  new-comer,  returned  to  the 
kitchen,  heedless,  to  all  appearances,  of  the  scream  with  which 
Hetty  flew  to  meet  the  stranger. 

"George!"  she  cried,  "oh!  George!"  and  she  clasped 
the  damp  arm  of  the  man,  gotten  up  on  the  grizzly-bear  pat- 
tern, as  though  there  could  be  no  pleasure  greater  than  this  in 
all  the  world. 

Though  a  man,  George  was  wise  enough  to  know  that  he 
was  not  indebted  to  his  personal  attractions  for  this  affection- 
ate greeting;  but  taking  both  her  hands  in  his,  he  said,  "Yes, 
Miss  Hetty,  I  've  come  to  tell  you  all  about  it." 

At  the  fall  rodeo  on  the  Yedral  Ranch,  Frank's  horse  had 
fallen,  covering  its  rider  with  its  weighty  body.  He  recovered 
from  a  death-like  swoon  with  wandering  mind;  and  the  spine 


HETTY'S  HEROISM.  85 

being  injured,  according  to  the  doctor's  statement,  it  seemed 
doubtful  that  he  would  ever  leave  his  bed,  except  as  imbecile 
or  cripple.  Reason  returning,  Frank  felt  that  his  friends' 
fears  of  his  remaining  a  cripple  were  not  without  foundation, 
and  a  hopeless  gloom  settled  on  his  spirit.  Many  a  time, 
when  George  had  made  "fast  time"  and  spent  the  half-hour 
gained  at  Frank's  bed,  did  Hetty's  name  rise  to  his  lips;  but 
it  was  never  pronounced.  Only  this  :  looking  up  out  of  deep 
sunken  eyes,  one  day,  quite  recently,  Frank  had  said  to  him, 
"  George,  I  shall  get  well,  and  not  be  a  cripple.  If  only  —  " 
''It's  all  right,"  had  been  George's  answer;  and  he  had 
hurried  from  the  house  as  though  charged  with  the  most 
urgent  commission. 

After  an  hour's  conversation,  Hetty  had  only  one  question 
to  ask.  Looking  up  with  shy  eagerness,  she  almost  said 
below  her  breath,  "  And  Lolita?  " 

For  answer,  George  took  the  flushed  face  between  his 
hands.  "You've  grown  mighty  thin,  Miss  Hetty,"  he 
simply  said.  Then  he  continued,  with  great  nonchalance, 
"  Lolita  got  stuck  after  the  new  schoolmaster  —  they've  got  a 
man  in  your  place.  But  come,  Miss  Hetty,  you  'peared  to 
me  last  New-Year's  eve  like  an  angel,  in  my  distress ;  sup- 
pose you  do  as  much  now  for  Frank  Button.  We  can  get 
down  there  on  New- Year's  eve,  and  give  you  lots  of  time  to 
spend  Christmas  here  first.  What  d  'ye  say?  " 

No  lover  could  have  pleaded  more  earnestly.  All  her 
objections  were  overruled,  and  when  at  last  she  said,  almost 
breathlessly,  "Oh,  but  his  mother,  George!"  he  answered, 
with  all  his  honest  heart:  "It's  my  firm  belief,  Miss  Hetty, 
that  you  were  cut  out  for  a  real  hero-ine;  and  a  hero-ine 
you've  got  to  be  to  the  end  of  the  chapter  —  which  I  don't 
say  but  the  last  trial  of  your  hero-ism  will  be  greater  than  the 
first." 

And  sure  enough,  on  New-Year's  eve,  came  the  rumbling 


86  OVERLAND    TALES. 

of  wheels  and  the  tramp  of  horses'  hoofs  close  up  to  the 
veranda  of  the  ranch-house  on  the  Yedral.  None  of  the  in- 
mates seemed  startled,  though  none  had  expected  company. 
Without  a  word  Father  Sutton  sprang  to  the  door — alas  !  that 
the  old  man  was  swifter  of  foot  now  than  the  young  giant  of 
a  year  ago  —  caught  the  lithe  figure  that  sprang  from  the  stage 
in  his  arms  and  set  her  down,  as  Frank  had  done,  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  room.  But  she  was  not  cold,  dripping  wet  now, 
only  blinded  by  the  light  one  moment,  and  the  next  on  her 
knees  by  the  lounge,  where  a  pale,  haggard  man  lay  stretched. 
He  half  raised  himself  to  catch  her  in  his  arms,  and  for  a 
wonder  did  not  sink  back  with  the  moan  that  had  become  so 
painful  to  his  father's  ears.  For  once  Hetty  had  cast  aside 
all  timidity,  and  she  looked  up  brightly  into  Father  Sutton's 
face,  while  one  arm  circled  Frank's  neck  and  the  other  hand 
lay  unresistingly  in  his. 

"  Hey  !  "  shouted  the  old  man  ;  "  now  we  know  whose  gal 
you  are  ;  I  used  to  call  you  mine  once.  Mother,  get  some 
supper ;  I  reckon  she  is  wellnigh  starved  and  perished  with 
the  cold.  Lively,  Johnny  !  bring  some  more  wood;  Hetty '11 
stay  for  good,  and  you  '11  get  time  enough  to  hang  'round  the 
gal  to-morrow." 

And  what  a  bright  to-morrow  it  was  !  Such  a  New- Year's 
day  had  never  dawned  on  Yedral  Ranch  before.  Every  one 
seemed  to  have  found  a  treasure,  even  to  Mrs.  Sutton.  To- 
gether with  Hetty's  trunk  had  come  a  large,  promising-look- 
ing box,  and  when  Father  Sutton  presented  this  to  his  better- 
half,  she  almost  screamed  — 

"  Oh,  I  know !  it 's  my  new  fur  sack ! ' ' 


A  WOMAN'S  TREACHERY. 

HOW  much  you  resemble  Mrs.  Arnold!"  exclaimed  the 
Doctor's  wife,  after  an  hour's  acquaintance,  the  day  we  . 

reached  Fort .     It  was  not  the  first  time  I  had  heard 

of  my  resemblance  to  this,  to  me,  unknown  lady  remarked  on. 
A  portion  of  the  regiment  of  colored  troops  to  which  Doctor 
Kline  belonged,  and  which  we  met  on  their  way  in  to  the 
States,  as  we  were  coming  out,  had  been  camped  near  us  one 
night ;  and  a  colored  laundress,  who  had  good-naturedly  come 
over  to  our  tent  to  take  the  place  of  my  girl,  who  was  sick, 
had  broken  into  the  same  exclamation  on  first  beholding  me. 
Captain  Arnold  belonged  to  the  same  regiment,  and  was  ex- 
pecting, like  all  the  volunteers  then  in  the  Territory,  to  be 
ordered  home  and  mustered  out  of  service,  as  soon  as  the  body 
of  regular  troops,  to  which  my  husband  belonged,  could  be 
assigned  their  respective  posts.  Their  expectations  were  not 
to  be  realized  for  some  time  yet ;  and  when  I  left  the  Terri- 
tory, a  year  later,  a  part  of  these  troops  were  still  on  the 
frontier. 

Fort was  not  our  destination ;  to  reach  it,  we  should 

be  obliged  to  pass  through,  and  stop  for  a  day  or  two  at,  the 
very  post  of  which  Captain  Arnold  had  command  —  which 
would  afford  me  excellent  and  ample  opportunity  for  judging 
of  the  asserted  likeness  between  this  lady  and  myself.  I  must 
explain  why  we  were,  in  a  measure,  compelled  to  stop  at  Fort 
Desolation  (we  will  call  it  so).  It  was  located  in  the  midst 
of  a  desert  —  the  most  desolate  and  inhospitable  that  can  be 
imagined  —  in  the  heart  of  an  Indian  country,  and  just  so  far 

87 


88  OVERLAND    TALES. 

removed  from  the  direct  route  across  the  desert  as  to  make  it 
impracticable  to  turn  in  there  with  a  command,  or  large  num- 
ber of  soldiers ;  for  which  reason,  troops  crossing  here  always 
carried  water-barrels  filled  with  them.  A  small  party,  how- 
ever, such  as  ours  was  then,  could  not  with  any  safety  camp 
out  the  one  night  they  must,  despite  the  best  ambulance-mules, 
pass  on  the  desert. 

With  most  pardonable  curiosity,  I  endeavored  to  learn  some- 
thing more  of  the  woman  who  was  so  much  like  me  in  appear- 
ance ;  and  I  began  straightway  to  question  Mrs.  Kline  about 
her.  The  impression  of  a  frank,  open  character,  which  this 
lady  had  made  on  me  at  first,  vanished  at  once  when  she  found 
that  Mrs.  Arnold  was  to  be  made  the  subject  of  conversation 
between  us. 

"  Is  she  pretty?  " 

"Yes  —  quite  so.'-'  Ahem  !  and  looked  like  me.  But  my 
mother's  saying,  that  there  might  be  a  striking  resemblance 
between  a  very  handsome  and  a  very  plain  person,  presented 
itself  to  my  memory  like  an  uninvited  guest,  and  I  concluded 
not  to  fall  to  imagining  vain  things  on  so  slight  a  support. 

"  What  kind  of  a  man  is  Captain  Arnold  ?  " 

"The  most  good-natured  man  in  the  world." 

"Oh  !"  Something  in  the  manner  of  her  saying  this  in 
praise  of  Captain  Arnold  made  me  think  she  wanted  to  say 
nothing  further ;  so  I  stopped  questioning. 

We  left  the  Doctor  and  his  wife  early  the  next  morning, 
and  reached  Fort  Desolation  at  nighf-fall.  The  orderly  had 
preceded  us  a  short  distance,  and,  when  the  ambulance  stop- 
ped at  the  Captain's  quarters,  Mrs.  Arnold  appeared  on  the 
threshold,  holding  a  lantern  in  her  hand.  She  raised  it,  to 
let  the  light  fall  into  the  ambulance ;  and  as  the  rays  fell  on 
her  own  face,  I  could  see  that  she  looked  like  —  a  sister  I  had. 
The  Captain  was  absent,  inspecting  the  picket-posts  he  had 
established  along  the  river,  and  would  return  by  morning, 


A   WOMAN'S   TREACHERY.  89 

Mrs.  Arnold  said  ;  and  she  busied  herself  with  me  in  a  pleas- 
ant, pretty  manner.  She  could  not  resemble  me  in  height  or 
figure,  I  said  to  myself,  for  she  was  smaller  and  more  delicately 
made;  nor  had  anyone  in  our  family  such  deep-blue  eyes, 
save  mother  —  we  children  had  to  content  ourselves  with  gray 
ones. 

The  night  outside  was  dark  and  chilly;  but  in  the  Captain's 
house  there  were  light  and  warmth,  and  it  was  bright  with 
the  fires  that  burned  in  the  fireplaces  of  the  different  rooms  — 
all  opening  one  into  the  other.  I  was  forcibly  struck  with  the 

difference  between  the  quarters  at  Fort and  Mrs.  Arnold's 

home  at  Fort  Desolation.  Comforts  (luxuries,  in  this  coun- 
try) of  all  kinds  made  it  attractive  :  bright  carpets  were  on 

the  floors  here ;  while  at  the  Doctor's  quarters  at  Fort , 

one  was  always  reminded  of  cold  feet'  and  centipedes,  when 
looking  at  the  naked  adobe  floors.  Embroidered  covers  were 
spread  on  the  tables  and  white  coverlets  on  the  beds ;  while 
at  the  Doctor's  all  these  things  were  made  hideous  by  hospital- 
linen  and  gray  blankets.  Easy-chairs  and  lounges,  manu- 
factured from  flour-barrels,  saw-bucks,  and  candle-boxes,  were 
made  gorgeous  and  comfortable  with  red  calico  and  sheep's- 
wool ;  but  the  crowning  glory  of  parlor,  bed-room,  and  sitting- 
room  was  a  dazzling  toilet-set  of  china  —  gilt-edged,  and 
sprinkled  with  delicate  bouquets  of  moss-roses  and  foliage. 

"Where  did  you  get  it?"  I  asked,  in  astonishment  —  not 
envy. 

"  Is  n't  it  pretty?  "  she  asked,  triumphantly.  "The  Cap- 
tain's quartermaster,  Lieutenant  Rockdale,  brought  it  from 
Santa  Fe  for  me,  and  paid  a  mint  of  money  for  it,  no  doubt." 

At  the  supper-table  I  saw  Lieutenant  Rockdale,  who  com- 
manded the  post  in  the  Captain's  absence,being  the  only  officer 
there  besides  the  Captain  ;  and,  as  he  messed  with  them  alto- 
gether, I  need  not  say  that  the  table  was  well  supplied  with 
all  the  delicacies  that  New  York  and  Baltimore  send  out  to 


pO  OVERLAND    TALES. 

less  highly  favored  portions  of  the  universe,  in  tin  cans. 
Lieutenant  Rockdale  was  a  handsome  man  —  a  trifle  effemi- 
nate, perhaps,  with  languishing,  brown  eyes,  and  a  soft  voice. 
He  seemed  delighted  with  our  visit,  and  took  my  husband  off 
to  his  own  quarters,  while  Mrs.  Arnold  and  I  looked  over  pic- 
tures of  her  friends,  over  albums,  and  at  all  the  hundred  little 
curiosities  which  she  had  accumulated  while  in  the  Territory. 
The  cares  of  the  household  seemed  to  sit  very  lightly  on  her ; 
a  negro  woman,  Constantia,  and  a  mulatto  boy,  of  twelve  or 
thirteen,  sharing  the  labor  between  them.  The  boy  seemed 
to  be  a  favorite  with  Mrs.  Arnold,  though  she  tantalized  and 
tormented  him,  as  I  afterwards  found  she  tormented  and  tanta- 
lized every  living  creature  over  which  she  had  the  power. 

I  had  noticed,  while  Constantia  and  Fred  were  clearing  off 
the  table,  that  she  had  cut  him  a  slice  from  a  very  choice 
cake,  toward  which  the  child  had  cast  longing  looks.  Placing 
it  carefully  on  a  plate,  when  he  had  to  leave  it  for  a  moment 
to  do  something  his  mistress  had  bidden  him,  in  the  twinkling 
of  an  eye  she  had  hidden  it ;  and  when  the  boy  missed  it, 
she  expressed  her  regret  at  his  carelessness,  and  artfully  led 
his  suspicions  toward  Constantia.  Hearing  him  whimpering 
and  sniffling  as  he  went  back  and  forth  between  dining-room 
and  kitchen,  his  childish  distress  at  losing  the  cake  seemed 
to  afford  her  the  same  amusement  that  a  stage-play  would, 
and  she  laughed  till  the  tears  rolled  down  her  cheeks.  Later, 
he  was  summoned  to  replenish  the  fire ;  and,  knowing  the 
little  darkey's  aversion  for  going  out  of  the  house  bare-headed 
(he  had  an  idea  that  his  cap  could  prevent  the  Indian  arrows 
from  penetrating  his  skull),  she  hid  the  cap  he  had  left  in  the 
adjoining  room,  and  then  laughed  immoderately  at  his  terror 
on  leaving  the  house  without  it.  The  next  morning,  she  led 
me  out  to  the  stables  to  show  me  her  horse  —  a  magnificent, 
black  animal,  wild-eyed,  with  a  restless,  fretful  air.  Crossing 
the  space  in  front  of  the  house,  she  called  to  a  soldier  with 


A   WOMAN'S   TREACHERY.  9! 

sergeant-chevrons  on  his  arms  —  a  man  with  just  enough  of 
negro  blood  in  his  veins  to  stamp  him  with  the  curse  of  his 
race. 

"  Harry  !  "  she  called  to  him,  "  Harry,  come  hold  Black 
for  me;  I  want  to  give  him  a  piece  of  sugar."  She  opened 
her  hand  to  let  him  see  the  pieces,  and  he  touched  his  cap 
and  followed  us.  He  loosened  the  halter  and  led  the  horse 
up  to  us,  but  the  animal  started  back  when  he  saw  Mrs.; 
Arnold,  and  would  not  let  her  approach  him.  Harry  patted! 
his  neck  and  soothed  him,  and  Mrs.  Arnold  holding  the 
sugar  up  to  his  view,  the  horse  came  to  take  it  from  her  hand; 
but  she  quickly  clutched  his  lip  with  her  fingers,  and  blew 
into  his  face  till  the  horse  reared  and  plunged  so  that  Harry 
could  hold  him  no  longer.  Laughing  like  an  imp,  she  called 
to  Harry : 

"  Get  on  him  and  hold  him,  if  you  cannot  manage  him  in 

that  way :  get  on  him  anyhow,  and  let  Mrs.  see  him 

dance." 

The  mulatto's  flashing  black  eyes  were  bent  on  her  with  a 
singularly  reproachful  look ;  but  the  next  moment  he  was  on 
the  horse's  back,  the  horse  snorting  and  jumping  in  a  per- 
fectly frantic  manner. 

When  Mrs.  Arnold  had  sufficiently  recovered  from  her 
merriment,  she  explained  that  the  horse  had  not  been  ridden 
fora  month;  the  last  time  she  had  ridden  him  he  had  thrown 
her — she  had  pricked  him  with  a  pin  to  urge  him  on  faster. 

About  noon  the  Captain  arrived ;  and  I  found  him,  as 
Mrs.  Kline  had  described,  "  the  most  good-natured  man  in 
the  world,"  and,  to  all  appearances,  loving  his  wife  with  the 
whole  of  his  big  heart.  He  was  big  in  stature,  too,  with 
broad  shoulders,  pleasant  face,  and  cheerful,  ringing  voice. 
The  shaggy  dog,  who  had  slunk  away  from  Mrs.  Arnold, 
came  leaping  up  on  his  master  when  he  saw  him ;  the  horse 
he  had  ridden  rubbed  his  nose  against  his  master's  shoulder 


92  OVERLAND    TALES. 

before  turning  to  go  into  his  stable,  and  Constantia  and  Fred 
beamed  on  him  with  their  white  teeth  and  laughing  eyes  from 
the  kitchen-door.  Later  in  the  afternoon,  he  asked  what  I 
thought  of  his  quarters,  and  told  me  how  hard  his  colored 
soldiers  had  worked  to  build  the  really  pretty  adobe  house  in 
strict  accordance  with  his  wishes  and  directions.  But  I  could 
not  quite  decide  whether  he  was  more  proud  of  the  house  or 
of  the  affection  his  men  all  had  for  him.  Then  he  told  me 
the  story  of  almost  every  piece  of  furniture  in  the  house ;  and, 
moving  from  room  to  room,  we  came  to  where  their  bed  stood. 
Resting  beside  it  was  his  carbine,  which  the  orderly  had 
brought  in.  Taking  it  in  his  hand  to  examine  it,  he  pointed 
it  at  his  wife's  head  with  the  air  of  a  brigand,  and  uttered,  in 
unearthly  tones : 

"Your  money,  or  your  life  !  " 

With  a  quick,  cat-like  spring,  she  was  by  the  bed,  had 
thrust  her  hands  under  the  pillow,  and  the  next  instant  was 
holding  two  Derringers  close  to  his  breast.  Throwing  back 
her  head,  like  a  heroine  in  velvet  trousers  on  the  stage,  she 
returned,  in  the  same  strain  : 

"  I  can  play  a  hand  at  that  game,  too,  and  go  you  one 
better  !  " 

She  laughed  as  she  said  it  —  the  laugh  that  she  laughed 
with  her  white  teeth  clenched  —  but  there  was  a  "glint  "  in 
her  eye  that  I  had  never  seen  in  a  blue  eye  before. 

When  once  more  on  the  way,  my  husband  asked  me  how  I 
liked  Mrs.  Arnold.  "Very  well,"  said  I;  "but  — ,"  and 
I  did  not  hesitate  to  tell  him  of  the  peculiarities  I  had  noticed 
about  her.  He  himself  was  charmed  with  her  sprightliness, 
so  he  only  responded  with,  "  Pshaw  !  woman  !  "  after  which 
I  maintained  an  offended  (he  said,  offensive)  silence  on  the 
subject. 

Not  quite  four  months  later,  my  husband  was  recalled  to 
Santa  Fe,  and  we  again  crossed  the  desert,  with  only  three 


A   WOMAN'S   TREACHERY.  93 

men  as  escort.  I  had  heard  nothing  from  either  Mrs.  Arnold 
or  the  Captain  in  all  this  time,  for  our  post  was  farther  out 
than  theirs;  indeed,  so  far  out  that  nothing  belonging  to  the 
same  military  department  passed  by  that  way.  It  was  mid- 
summer, and  the  dreary  hills  shutting  in  Fort  Desolation,  and 
running  down  toward  the  river  some  distance  back  of  the 
place,  were  baked  hard  and  black  jn  the  sun ;  the  little 
stream  that  had  meandered  along  through  the  low  inclosure 
of  the  fort  in  winter  time  was  now  a  mere  bed  of  slime,  and 
the  plateaux,  which  had  been  levelled  for  the  purpose  of 
erecting  the  Captain's  house  and -the  commissary  buildings  on 
them,  could  not  boast  of  a  single  spear  of  grass  or  any  other 
sign  of  vegetation.  The  Captain's  house  lay  on  the  highest 
of  these  plateaux;  lower  down,  across  the  creek,  were  the 
quartermaster  and  commissary  buildings  (here,  too,  were 
Lieutenant  Rockdale's  quarters);  and  to  the  left,  on  the  other 
side  of  the  men's  quarters,  was  the  guard-house  —  part  jacal, 
part  tent-cloth. 

How  could  any  one  live  here  and  be  happy?  Black  and 
bald  the  earth,  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach ;  black  and  dingy 
the  tents  and  the  huts  that  strewed  the  flat ;  murky  and  dark 
the  ridge  of  fog  that  rose  on  the  unseen  river ;  murky  and 
silent  the  clefts  in  the  rocks  where  the  sun  left  darkness 
forever. 

It  might  have  been  the  fading  light  of  the  waning  day  that 
cast  the  peculiarly  sombre  shadow  on  the  Captain's  house  as 
we  drew  up  to  it ;  but  I  thought  the  same  shadow  must  have 
fallen  on  the  Captain's  face,  when  he  appeared  in  the  door  to 
greet  us.  Presently  Mrs.  Arnold  fluttered  up  in  white  muslin 
and  blue  ribbons ;  and  both  did  their  best  to  make  us  com- 
fortable. How  my  husband  felt,  I  don't  know;  but  they  did 
not  succeed  in  making  me  feel  comfortable.  Perhaps  the 
absence  of  the  bright  fire  made  the  rooms  look  so  dark,  even 
after  the  lights  had  been  brought  in  —  there  was  certainly  a 


94  OVERLAND    TALES. 

change.  Supper  was  placed  on  the  table,  but  I  missed  Con- 
stantia's  round  face  in  the  dining-room.  In  answer  to  my 
question  regarding  her,  I  was  told  she  had  expressed  so  strong 
a  desire  to  return  to  the  States  that  she  had  been  sent  to  Fort 

,  there  to  await  an  opportunity  to  go  in.  Lieutenant 

Rockdale's  absence  I  noticed  also.  He  did  not  mess  with 
them  any  more,  I  was  informed. 

My  attention  was  attracted  to  a  conversation  between  Cap- 
tain Arnold  and  my  husband.  The  guard-house,  he  told  him, 
was  at  present  occupied  by  two  individuals  who  had  made 
their  appearance  at  Fort  Desolation  several  days  ago,  and  had 
tried  to  prevail  on  the  Captain  to  sell  them  some  of  the  gov- 
ernment horses,  and  arms  and  ammunition,  offering  liberal 
payment,  and  promising  secrecy.  They  were  Americans  ;  but 
as  the  number  of  American  settlers,  or  white  settlers,  in  this 
country  is  so  small,  it  was  easy  for  the  Captain  to  determine 
that  these  were  not  of  them,  and  their  dress  and  general  ap- 
pearance led  him  to  suspect  that  they  belonged  to-that  despic- 
able class  of  white  men  who  make  common  cause  with  the 
Indian,  in  order  to  rob  and  plunder,  and,  if  need  be,  murder, 
those  of  their  own  race.  Of  course  they  had  not  made  these 
proposals  directly  and  openly  to  the  Captain  —  at  first  repre- 
senting themselves  as  members  of  a  party  of  miners  going  to 
Finos  Altos ;  but  they  soon  betrayed  a  familiarity  with  the 
country  which  only  years  of  roaming  through  it  could  have 
given  them.  He  had  felt  it  his  duty  to  arrest  them  at  once, 
but  had  handcuffed  them  only  to-day,  and  meant  to  send 
them,  under  strong  escort,  to  Fort ,  where  their  regi- 
mental commander  was  stationed,  as  soon  as  some  of  the  men 
from  the  picket-posts  could  be  called  in. 

It  was  late  when  we  arose  from  the  supper-table,  and  the 
Captain  and  my  husband  left  us,  to  go  down  to  the  guard- 
house, while  Mrs.  Arnold  led  me  into  the  room  where  their 
bed  stood.  This  room  had  but  one  window  —  of  which  win- 


A   WOMAN'S    TREACHERY.  95 

dow  the  Captain  was  very  proud.  It  was  a  French  window, 
opening  down  to  the  ground.1  Throwing  it  open,  Mrs. 
Arnold  said : 

"  What  a  beautiful  moon  we  have  to-night ;  let  us  put  out 
the  candle  and  enjoy  the  moonshine" — with  which  she 
laughingly  extinguished  the  light,  and  drew  my  chair  to  the 
window. 

From  where  I  sat  I  could  just  see  the  men's  quarters  and 
the  guard-house,  though  it  might  have  been  difficult  from  there 
to  see  the  window.  We  had  not  been  seated  long  when  I 
fancied  I  heard  a  noise,  as  though  of  some  one  stealthily  ap- 
proaching from  somewhere  in  the  direction  to.  which  my  back 
was  turned ;  then  some  one  seemed  to  brush  or  scrape  against 
the  outside  wall  of  the  house,  behind  me.  "  What 's  that  ?  " 
I  asked  in  quick  alarm.  It  had  not  remained  a  secret  to  Mrs. 
Arnold  that  I  was  an  unmitigated  coward ;  so  she  arose,  and 
saying,  "  How  timid  you  are  !  —  it  is  the  dog;  but  I  will  go 
and  look,"  she  stepped  from  the  low  window  to  the  ground 
outside,  and  vanished  around  the  corner  of  the  house.  Some 
time  passed  before  she  returned,  and  with  a  little  shudder, 
sprang  to  light  the  candle. 

"How  chilly  it  is  getting,"  she  exclaimed;  and  then  con- 
tinued, "  it  was  the  dog  we  heard  out  there.  Poor  fellow; 
perhaps  the  cook  had  forgotten  him,  so  I  gave  him  his  supper." 

Rising  from  my  seat  to  close  the  window  on  her  remark 
about  the  cold,  I  stepped  to  the  opposite  side  from  where  I 
had  been  sitting ;  and  there,  crossing  the  planks  that  lay  over 
the  slimy  creek,  and  going  towards  the  commissary  buildings, 
was  a  man  whose  figure  seemed  familiar :  I  could  not  be  mis- 
taken—  it  was  Lieutenant  Rockdale.  No  doubt  the  man  had 
a  right  to  walk  in  any  place  he  might  choose ;  but,  somehow, 
I  could  not  help  bringing  him  in  connection  with  "the  dog, 
poor  fellow,"  for  whom  Mrs.  Arnold  had  all  at -once  felt  such 
concern. 


g6  OVERLAND    TALES, 

Soon  the  gentlemen  returned,  and  we  repaired  to  the  parlor, 
where  a  game  of  chess  quickly  made  them  inaccessible  to  our 
conversation.  The  game  was  interrupted  by  a  rap  at  the  front 
door,  and  Harry,  the  sergeant  whom  Mrs.  Arnold  had  com- 
pelled to  mount  her  black  horse  that  day,  appeared  on  the 
threshold.  In  his  face  there  was  a  change,  too  ;  his  eyes 
flashed  with  an  unsteady  light  as  he  opened  the  door,  and 
ever  and  again,  while  addressing  the  Captain — whose  thoughts 
were  still  half  with  the  game  —  his  looks  wandered  over  to 
where  Mrs.  Arnold  sat.  We  were  so  seated  that  the  Captain's 
back  was  partly  toward  her  when  he  turned  to  the  sergeant ; 
and  he  could  not  see  the  quick  gesture  of  impatience,  or  inter- 
rogation, that  Mrs.  Arnold  made  as  she  caught  the  mulatto's 
eye.  Involuntarily,  I  glanced  toward  him  —  and  saw  the  nod 
of  assent,  or  intelligence  he  gave  in  return. 

The  sergeant  had  come  to  report  that  the  prisoners  in  the 
guard -house  had  suddenly  asked  to  see  the  Captain  :  they  had 
disclosures  to  make  to  him.  When  Captain  Arnold  returned, 
his  face  was  flushed. 

"The  villains !  "  he  burst  out.  "  They  had  managed  to  hide 
about  five  thousand  dollars  in  United  States  bank-notes  about 
them,  when  they  were  searched  for  concealed  weapons,  and 
they  just  now  offered  it  to  me,  if  I  would  let  them  escape.  Not 
only  that,  but  from  something  one  of  them  said,  I  have  gained 
the  certainty  that  they  are  implicated  in  the  massacre  of  the 
party  of  civilians  that  passed  through  here  about  two  months 
ago  :  you  remember,  the  General  ordered  out  a  part  of  K  com- 
pany, to  rescue  the  one  man  who  was  supposed  to  have  been 
taken  prisoner.  The  wretches !  But  I  '11  go  myself,  in  the 
morning,  to  relieve  the  men  from  picket-duty,  and  select  the 
best  from  among  them  to  take  the  scoundrels  to  Santa  Fe  !  " 

When  about  to  begin  my  toilet  the  next  morning,  I  gave  a 
start  of  surprise.  Was  that  what  had  made  the  house  look  so 
dark  and  changed  ?  Before  me  stood  a  large  tin  wash-basin 


A   WOMAN'S   TREACHERY,  97 

—  of  the  kind  that  all  common  mortals  used  out  here  —  and 
the  beautiful  toilet-set  of  china,  with  its  splendors  of  gilt-edge 
and  moss-roses,  had  all  disappeared  —  all  save  the  soap-dish 
and  hot-water  pitcher,  which  were  both  defective,  and  looked 
as  though  they  had  gone  through  a  hard  struggle  for  existence. 

When  our  ambulance  made  the  ascent  of  the  little  steep  hill 
that  hides  Fort  Desolation  from  view,  I  saw  three  horses  led 
from  the  stable  to  the  Captain's  house  —  the  Captain's  horse 
and  two  others.  He  was  as  good  as  his  word,  and  before  an- 
other day  had  passed,  the  two  men  penned  up  in  that  tent 
there  would  be  well  on  their  way  to  meet  justice  and  retribu- 
tion. A  solitary  guard,  with  ebony  face  and  bayonet  flashing 
in  the  morning  sun,  was  pacing  back  and  forth  by  the  tent ; 
and  walking  briskly  from  the  commissary  buildings  toward 
the  men's  quarters,  was  Harry,  the  mulatto  sergeant. 

From  the  first  glance  I  had  at  Mrs.  Kline's  face,  when  we 

reached  Fort ,  I  knew  that  the  mystery  of  the  change  at 

Fort  Desolation  would  be  solved  here.  Constantia  was  there, 
and  acting  as  cook  in  Dr.  Kline's  family.  She  was  an  excel- 
lent cook,  and  we  did  ample  justice  to  her  skill  at  supper- 
time.  The  gentlemen  leaving  the  table  to  smoke  their  cigars, 
Mrs.  Kline  and  I  settled  down  to  another  cup  of  tea  and  me- 
disance.  From  what  Constantia  had  stated  on  coming  to  Fort 
— - — ,  it  would  seem  that  in  some  way  Captain  Arnold's  sus- 
picions had  been  aroused  in  regard  to  the  friendship  of 
Lieutenant  Rockdale  for  his  wife.  About  two  months  ago,  he 
one  day  pretended  to  start  off  on  a  tour  of  inspection  to  the 
picket-posts ;  but  returned,  late  the  same  night,  by  a  different 
road.  Stealing  into  the  house  through  the  kitchen,  he  had, 
rather  unceremoniously,  entered  the  bed-room,  where  he  found 
Lieutenant  Rockdale  toasting  his  bare  feet  before  the  fire. 
Raising  his  carbine  to  shoot  the  man,  Mrs.  Arnold  had  sprung 
forward,  seized  his  arms  and  torn  the  gun  from  him.  In  the 
confusion  that  followed,  the  toilet-set  referred  to,  and  other 
9  G 


98  OVERLAND    TALES. 

articles  of  furniture,  were  demolished :  but  Constantia,  who 
had  crept  in  after  the  Captain,  to  prevent  mischief,  if  possible, 
gave  it  as  her  opinion  that  Mrs.  Arnold  "  had  grit  enough  for 
ten  such  men  as  him  an'  de  leftenant." 

"  If  you  did  but  know  the  ingratitude  of  the  creature," 
continued  Mrs.Kline,  "and  the  devotion  her  husband  has  al- 
ways shown  her !  ' '  And  she  gave  me  a  brief  sketch  of  her 
career:  Married  to  Arnold  just  at  the  breaking  out  of  the 
war,  and  of  poor  parents,  she  had  driven  him  almost  to  dis- 
traction by  her  treatment,  when  thrown  out  of  employment 
some  time  after.  At  last  he  went  into  the  Union  forces  as 
substitute  —  giving  every  cent  of  the  few  hundred  dollars  he 
received  to  his  wife,  who  spent  it  on  herself  for  finery.  Later, 
when  for  bravery  and  good  conduct  he  was  made  lieutenant 
in  a  negro  regiment,  she  joined  her  husband,  and  finally  came 
to  the  Territory  with  him.  In  their  regiment,  it  was  well 
known  that  he  had  always  blindly  worshipped  his  wife ;  and 
that  she  had  always  ruled  him,  his  purse,  and  his  company, 
with  absolute  power. 

Before  retiring  for  the  night,  we  debated  the  question : 

Should  we  remain  the  next  day  at  Fort ,  or  proceed  on 

our  journey  ?  The  mules  needed  rest,  as  well  as  the  horses, 
for  the  quartermaster  could  not  furnish  fresh  mules,  which 
we  had  rather  expected ;  still,  my  husband  was  anxious  to 
reach  Santa  Fe  as  soon  as  possible  —  and  we  left  the  question 
of  our  departure  where  it  was,  to  settle  it  the  next  morning 

at  breakfast.  The  news  that  came  to  Fort ,  before  the 

next  morning,  made  us  forget  our  journey  —  for  that  day,  at 
least.  Captain  Arnold  had  been  murdered  !  The  big,  true- 
hearted  man  was  lying  at  Fort  Desolation  —  dead  —  with  his 
broken  eyes  staring  up  to  the  heaven  that  had  not  had  pity 
on  him  —  his  broad  breast  pierced  with  the  bullet  that  a  wo- 
man's treachery  had  sped  ! 

Before  daybreak,  a  detachment  of  six  men  had  come  in 


A   WOMAN'S   TREACHERY.  99 

from  Fort  Desolation  to  Fort ,  to  report  to  the  com- 
mander of  their  regiment  that  Captain  Arnold  had  been 
assassinated,  and  Sergeant  Henry  Tulliver  had  deserted,  tak- 
ing with  him  one  horse,  two  revolvers,  and  a  carbine.  Captain 
Arnold  had  started  out  the  morning  before,  with  only  two 
men,  to  call  in  the  picket-posts.  An  hour  later,  the  two  men 
had  come  dashing  back  to  the  fort,  stating  that  they  had  been 
attacked,  and  Captain  Arnold  killed,  by  the  two  white  men 
who  had  been  confined  in  the  guard-house.  It  was  ascertained 
then,  for  the  first  time,  that  the  prisoners  had  made  their 
escape.  A  detachment  of  men  was  sent  out  with  a  wagon, 
and  the  Captain's  body  brought  in  —  the  men,  with  their  black 
faces  and  simple  hearts,  gathered  around  it,  with  tears  and 
lamentations,  heaping  curses  on  the  villains  who  had  slain 
their  kind  commander. 

Suddenly  a  rumor  had  been  spread  among  them  that  Harry, 
the  sergeant,  had  set  the  prisoners  free ;  and  instantly,  a  hun- 
dred hoarse  voices  were  shouting  the  mulatto's  name  —  a 
hundred  hands  ready  to  take  the  traitor's  life.  Vainly  Lieu- 
tenant Rockdale  —  who,  after  the  Captain's  departure,  had  at 
once  repaired  to  his  house  —  tried  to  check  the  confusion, 
that  was  quickly  ripening  into  mutiny :  the  excitement  only 
increased,  and  soon  a  crowd  of  black  soldiers  moved  toward 
the  men's  quarters,  with  anything  but  peaceful  intentions. 
Perhaps  Harry's  conscience  had  warned  him  of  what  would 
come,  for  while  the  mob  were  searching  the  quarters,  a  lithe 
figure  sprang  over  the  planks  across  the  creek,  ran  to  the 
stables  below  the  Captain's  house,  and  the  next  moment 
dashed  over  the  road,  mounted  on  a  wild-looking,  black 
horse. 

Could  they  but  have  reached  him  —  the  infuriated  men, 
who  sent  yells  and  carbine-balls  after  the  fugitive  —  he  would 
have  been  sacrificed  by  them  to  the  manes  of  the  murdered 
man ;  and  perhaps  this  effect  had  been  calculated  on,  when 


IOO  OVERLAND    TALES. 

the  fact  of  his  having  liberated  the  prisoners  had  been  brought 
to  their  ears. 

"  How  did  it  come  to  their  ears?  "  I  asked  of  the  Doctor, 
under  whose  care  one  of  the  six  men,  overcome  with  fatigue 
and  excitement,  had  been  placed.  It  seems  that  Mrs.  Arnold 
had  expressed  her  conviction  of  the  sergeant  having  liberated 
the  prisoners  to  Lieutenant  Rockdale  in  little  Fred's  hear- 
ing, and  the  boy  had  innocently  repeated  the  tale  to  the  men. 

In  the  afternoon  of  the  same  day,  the  detail  had  been  made 

of  the  men  who  brought  the  news  to  Fort  ;  but  when 

the  detachment  had  been  only  an  hour  or  two  on  the  way, 
they  found  the  trail  of  the  escaped  prisoners.  The  men  could 
not  withstand  the  temptation  to  make  an  effort,  at  least,  to 
recapture  them.  They  knew  them  to  be  mounted,  for  the 
two  horses  which  Sergeant  Tulliver  had  that  morning  sepa- 
rated from  the  herd  were  missing;  but  the  trail  they  followed 
showed  the  tracks  of  three  horses,  which  led  them  to  suppose 
that  Harry  had  found  the  men  and  joined  them. 

But  the  trail  led  farther  and  farther  from  the  road,  and  fear- 
ing to  be  ambushed,  they  turned  back,  leaving  the  man  who 
had  been  driven  from  the  companionship  of  his  brethren  by 
a  woman's  treachery,  to  become  one  of  the  vultures  that 
prey  on  their  own  kind. 


THE  GENTLEMAN  FROM  SISKIYOU. 

IN  Gilroy,  when  the  sun  lies  hot  and  yellow  on  the  roofs  of 
the  frame-built  houses  and  the  wide  meadows,  waving  with 
grain  or  cropped  short  by  herds  of  grazing  cattle,  the 
eye  turns  instinctively  to  the  mountains,  where  the  dreamy 
mid-day  atmosphere  seems  to  gather  coolness  from  the  dark 
woods  that  crown  its  summit. 

"  Over  that  way  lie  the  Hot  Springs,"  says  one  or  the  other, 
pointing  out  the  direction  to  the  stranger  who  comes  for  the 
first  time  to  Santa  Clara  Valley. 

If  he  wait  till  the  early  train  of  the  Southern  Pacific  Rail- 
road comes  in  from  San  Francisco,  he  will  see  any  number  of 
passengers  alighting  at  the  depot,  whose  dress  and  belongings 
speak  of  a  residence  in  a  place  somewhat  larger  and  wealthier 
than  the  pretty  little  town  of  Gilroy.  After  a  comfortable 
dinner  at  either  of  the  two  hotels,  carriages,  stages,  and  bug- 
gies are  in  readiness  to  convey  those  in  search  of  either  health 
or  pleasure  on  to  the  Springs. 

It  is  too  early  in  the  season  yet  to  feel  much  inconvenience 
from  the  dust ;  and  the  drive  through  the  precincts  of  what  is 
called  Old  Gilroy  is  a  charming  trip.  The  modest  but  cheer- 
ful houses  are  just  within  sight  of  each  other,  separated  by 
orchards,  grainfields,  vineyards ;  a  grove  of  white  oaks  here 
and  there,  a  single  live  oak,  and  clumps  of  willow  and  syca- 
more, make  the  landscape  as  pleasing  as  any  in  the  country. 
Nearer  the  first  rise  of  the  mountain,  the  view  of  grainfields, 
fenced  in  by  the  same  dry  board  fence,  would  become  monot- 
onous were  it  not  for  the  ever-fresh,  ever-beautiful  white  oak 
9*  i°i 


IO2  OVERLAND    TALES. 

that  stands,  sentinel-like,  scattered  through  the  golden  fields, 
its  lower  branches  sometimes  hidden  in  the  full -bearing 
garbs. 

First  we  hardly  notice  that  the  road  ascends ;  but  soon,  as 
the  foot-hills  leave  an  £>pen  space,  we  can  see  a  vast  plain 
lying  beneath  us,  and  then  the  climb  begins  in  good  earnest. 
"  Round  and  round  "  the  hill  it  seems  to  go  —  a  narrow  road 
cut  out  of  the  long-resisting  rock  —  the  wounds  which  the 
pick  and-  shovel  have  made  overgrown  by  tender,  pitying 
vines,  that  seek  to  hide  the  scars  on  the  face  of  their  fostering, 
mother.  Trees  high  above  us  shake  their  leafy  heads,  and 
the  wild  doves  who  have  their  nests  in  the  green  undergrowth, 
croon  sadly  over  the  invasion  of  their  quiet  mountain  home. 
Vain  complainings  of  tree  and  bird  !  When  the  eyes  of  mar. 
have  once  lighted  on  nature  in  her  wild,  fresh  beauty,  they 
are  never  withdrawn,  and  they  spare  not  the  bird  on  her  nest, 
nor  the  tree  in  its  pride. 

Here  opens  a  mountain  valley  before  us,  and,  nestled  in  the 
shadow  of  sycamore  and  alder,  a  cosy,  home-like  cot.  The 
peach  and  grape-vine  cluster  by  the  door ;  and  where  a  rude 
tumble-down  fence  encloses  the  fields,  the  Rose  of  Castile, 
the  native  child  of  California,  creeps  picturesquely  over  the 
crumbling  rails,  and  fills  the  air  with  its  own  matchless  fra- 
grance. Bees  are  drawing  honey  from  geranium  and  gilli- 
pink,  and  the  humming-bird,  darting  through  space  like  a 
flash  one  moment,  hangs  the  next,  with  a  quivering,  rapturous 
kiss,  in  the  petals  of  the  sweet-breathed  honeysuckle. 

Then  the  road  winds  higher,  and  the  hills  and  rocks  above 
grow  steeper,  bearing  aloft  the  laurel  tree  and  manzanite  bush, 
the  madrone  tree  and  the  poison  ivy.  There  is  not  an  inch 
of  ground  between  the  wheels  of  the  stage  and  the  steep  de- 
clivity ;  and  once  in  a  while  a  nervous  passenger  of  the  male 
gender  turns  away  with  a  shudder,  while  the  female  hides  her 
eyes  in  her  veil  or  handkerchief,  never  heeding  the  sight  of 


THE    GENTLEMANFROMSISKIYOU.       IO3 

the  bare,  bald  crags,  and  the  pine  -covered  heights  far  above 
and  in  the  dreamy  distance. 

As  we  enter  the  heart  of  the  canon,  the  rocky,  vine-clad 
walls  on  either  side  seem  to  reassure  the  nervous  passenger 
and  the  half-  fainting  lady ;  and  the  grade  being  very  easy  for 
quite  a  while,  there  is  no  more  lamentation  heard  till  the 
horses  dash  full-speed  through  a  laughing,  glittering  mountain 
stream,  the  head-waters  of  the  Cayote,  throwing  its  spray 
merrily  in  at  the  open  window.  Again  and  again  the  brook 
.is  crossed,  as  it  makes  its  quick,  flashing  way  through  black- 
berry clumps  and  wild  grape-vines,  glancing  up  at  sycamore 
and  buckeye  tree  as  it  hastens  along.  Suddenly  the  driver 
strikes  one  of  the  shining  white  rocks  on  which  the  water 
breaks  into  foam,  and  then  a  general  commotion  ensues  in 
the  stage,  and  before  the  passengers  have  settled  back  in  their 
original  places,  a  soft,  sad  music  seems  to  float  toward  us  on 
the  air  —  the  rustling  of  the  gray-green  pines  that  overhang 
the  last  rise  in  the  road,  and  shade  so  romantically  the  white 
cottages  clinging  to  the  mountain-side,  and  built  on  the 
plateau  that  is  crowned  by  the  hotel  and  gardens  of  the  Gilroy 
Hot  Springs. 

The  stage  halts,  and  after  shaking  hands  with  the  dozen 
friends  one  is  sure  to  find,  and  partaking  of  the  dinner,  which 
is  consumed  with  ravenous  appetite  after  the  drive  of  two  or 
three  hours,  it  is  still  early  enough  for  a  walk  to  the  Springs 
before  the  balmy  moonlit  night  sets  in.  The  terrace-like 
walk,  partly  cut  out,  partly  filled  in  on  the  stegp  mountain- 
side, is  overhung  by  hills  rising  again  on  hills ;  tiny  cottages 
peering  out  here,  there,  and  everywhere,  from  out  manzanite, 
laurel  and  pine  trees.  Beneath,  the  mountain  falls  off  into  a 
deep,  narrow  valley,  clothed  in  luxuriant  green,  a  towering 
mountain  rising  on  the  other  side. 

There  are  thousands  of  silver  trout  in  the  streams  in  the 
valley ;  there  is  an  abundance  of  game  in  the  wild,  rugged, 


IO4  OVERLAND    TALES. 

but  beautiful  mountains  back  of  and  above  the  Springs.  As 
in  some  cases,  however,  a  horrid,  vicious-looking  lamprey-eel 
has  been  found  on  the  rod,  instead  of  a  speckled-back  trout, 
so  in  other  cases  have  brave  hunters  returned  from  the  chase 
with  blanched  faces  and  reports  of  startling  sights  of  huge 
bears  and  California  lions,  instead  of  the  tamer  game  they 
had  expected  to  bag. 

"But  it  is  delightful  here  for  all  that!  "  is  the  almost  in- 
voluntary exclamation  of  those  who,  on  some  bright  June 
morning  make  their  way  slowly,  slowly — drinking  their  fill 
of  nature,  sunshine,  and  mountain  air  —  to  the  bubbling,  hiss- 
ing, seething  Springs. 

We  hear  this  same  remark  just  now  from  the  midst  of  the 
group  of  ladies  who  are  making  their  way  around  the  gentle 
curves  of  the  terrace-walk  to  the  Springs ;  and  as  the  words 
come  from  the  lips  of  one  who  is  to  figure  as  the  heroine  of 
our  short  but  veracious  story,  we  must  take  a  closer  look  at 
her,  as  she  sweeps  by,  moving  along  with  the  rest,  yet  always 
a  little  apart  from  them.  She  is  carelessly  swinging  her  hat 
by  the  strings,  and  the  sun,  now  and  again,  as  they  round 
some  curve  in  the  road,  kisses  the  auburn  of  her  curls  into 
ripples  of  golden  bronze.  The  nonchalance  expressed  in  air 
and  carriage  was  affected,  it  was  said,  and  that  she  always 
knew  what  was  going  on  around  her,  without  ever  asking  any 
questions. 

"That  gentleman  has  been  devouring  you  with  his  eyes 
this  last  half  hour.  I  noticed  him  up  at  the  house  as  we  were 
getting  ready  to  start  — and  now  he  is  here  before  us ; "  and 
fat,  motherly  Mrs.  Bradshaw  laughed  as  only  such  large- 
framed,  large-hearted  people  can  laugh. 

"  I  hope  he  finds  me  more  palatable  than  the  beefsteak  we 
had  this  morning  —  it  was  horribly  tough. ' ' 

"Are  you  speaking  of  the  gentleman  from  Siskiyou?" 
asked  the  tall  lady  with  glasses,  who  was  Miss  Kingsley,  and 


THE    GENTLEMAN  FROM  S I S  K I  Y  O  U.      105 

popularly  supposed  to  be  getting  up  a  book  on  "The  Re- 
sources of  California." 

"  No,  of  the  beefsteak,"  quickly  replied  she  of  the  auburn 
curls.  Mrs.  Bradshaw  nudged  her  very  perceptibly,  to  which 
admonition  she  made  answer,  sotto  voce,  "I  hate  old  maids 
and  blue-stockings." 

Miss  Kingsley  had  drawn  herself  up  to  her  stateliest  height : 
"  I  had  meant  to  inquire  whether  Mrs.  Bradshaw, was  alluding 
to  the  gentleman  from  Siskiyou?" 

"Yes,  dear;  did  n't  you  see  how  he  kept  his  eyes  fixed  on 
Mrs.  Clayton,  before  he  turned  away  when  he  saw  us  laugh- 
ing ?" 

"  I  did  not  observe.  My  opinion,  however,  if  I  may  ven- 
ture to  express  it,  is  that  Mrs.  Clayton,  with  all  her  talent  for 
subjugating  mankind,  will  hardly  succeed  in  bringing  that 
gentleman  to  her  feet.  This  piece  of  rock,  I  think,  could  be 
inspired  with  the  tender  passion  just  as  soon." 

"Oh!  did  he  refuse  that  valuable  information  in  regard 
to  the  resources  of  California?"  asked  Mrs.  Clayton,  with 
mingled  indignation  and  concern. 

Mrs..  Bradshaw  was  bubbling  over  with  laughter,  while  the 
rest  of  the  ladies  shared  her  mirth  more  or  less  openly,  accord- 
ing to  the  degree  of  friendship  entertained  for  Miss  Kingsley. 

When  the  party  rounded  the  last  bend  near  the  spring,  a 
tall,  spare  man,  conspicuous  in  a  generous  expanse  of  white 
shirt-bosom,  and  low,  stiff-brimmed  hat,  hastily  laid  down 
the  drinking-cup,  and  moved  out  of  sight,  making  the  circuit 
of  the  bath-houses  in  his  anxiety  to  avoid  the  advancing  column 
of  fair  ones.  Uncle  George  was  on  hand,  as  usual,  smilingly 
filling  glasses  and  dippers  with  the  boiling  waters,  trying  be- 
tween whiles  to  answer  the  numerous  questions  propounded, 
mostly  in  regard  to  the  retreating  form  disappearing  among 
the  manzanite  on  the  hillside. 

"It's  the  gentleman    from   Siskiyou."     The  words  were 


106  OVERLAND   TALES. 

addressed  to  Mrs.  Clayton,  who  was  blowing  little  puffs  of  wind 
into  the  glass  in  her  hand,  and  seemed  to  have  no  interest  in 
common  with  the  eager,  laughing  crowd  about.  "  He  and 
his  pardner  are  both  here ;  they  own  placer-mines  on  Yreka 
Flats,  and  came  here  because  the  gentleman's  liver  is  affected. 
They  're  a  funny  couple  —  never  speak  to  no  ladies,  and  ain't 
sociable  like,  only  among  themselves.  His  pardner  —  there 
he  is  now,  going  up  after  him,"  pointing  to  a  low-built,  square- 
shouldered  man,  with  black,  bushy  eyebrows  —  "  waits  on  him 
like  a  woman,  and  no  two  brothers  could  n't  be  more  affection- 
ate. His  pardner  told  me  his  own  self  that  when  they  first 
came  together,  eighteen  years  ago,  he  got  into  a  row  at  Placer- 
valle  —  used  to  be  Hangtown,  then  —  and  they  were  firing  into 
him  thick  and  fast  after  he  was  down,  when  Mr.  Brodie  step- 
ped in,  picked  him  up  and  carried  him  to  their  cabin,  and 
nussed  him  till  he  was  well  again.  You  see  he  limps  a  little 
yet ;  but  then  Mr.  Brodie  was  the  only  doctor  he  had,  and  he 
says  it 's  a  wonder  to  him  he  has  any  legs  left  at  all,  he  was  so 
riddled  with  shot." 

Sufficient  water  having  been  drank,  the  ladies  wended  their 
way  back,  scattering  as  they  approached  the  hotel  building  — 
generally  spoken  of  as  "  the  house  "  — which  contained  parlor, 
dining  and  assembly  rooms.  Some  sought  their  cottages, 
others  climbed  the  hill-sides,  while  still  others  visited  the  little 
stream  rushing  along  through  the  green  depths  that  the  stage- 
road  overhung.  Some  had  escorts,  others  went  alone,  or 
formed  groups  of  three  or  four ;  and  all  gave  themselves  up 
to  the  enjoyment  of  that  perfect  freedom  which  makes  the 
stay  at  these  California  watering-places  a  recreation  and  a 
holiday. 

As  the  heat  of  the  sun  became  more  oppressive,  the  strag- 
glers returned ;  and  the  closed  window-blinds  of  the  cottages 
spoke  of  an  unusually  warm  day  for  the  season.  This,  how- 
ever, did  not  forbid  the  ushering  in  of  the  next  day  with  an 


THE    GENTLEMAN  FROM  SISKIYOU.       IO/ 

extra  heavy  fog,  which  dripped  from  the  eaves  like  rain,  and 
made  more  penetrating  the  wind  that  came  in  surly  gusts  and 
rudely  swept  back  the  end  of  the  shawl  thrown  Spanish-fashion 
over  Mrs.  Clayton's  shoulder.  Her  right  hand  grasped  a  bottle 
filled  with  water  from  the  Springs ;  and  the  left,  hidden  until 
now  under  the  shawl,  was  bound  up  in  a  white  cloth.  The 
wind  had  carried  her  hat  away,  too ;  and  after  looking  help- 
lessly around,  she  deposited  the  bottle  on  the  bench  nearest 
her,  and  gave  chase  to  the  runaway.  But  the  hat  was  suddenly 
held  up  before  her,  and  the  bottle  taken  from  the  bench.  It 
was  the  gentleman  from  Siskiyou,  who  stammered  something 
she  did  not  understand,  and  to  which  she  replied  sweetly  and 
plaintively,  "Thank  you,  ever  so  much.  I  am  so  helpless 
with  that  hand.  I  sprained  it  some  weeks  ago,  falling  from  a 
carriage,  and  did  not  know  how  bad  it  was  till  the  doctors 
sent  me  here.  I  must  have  hurt  it  again  yesterday ;  and  now 
I  've  got  to  go  about  like  a  cripple."  The  voice  was  like  a 
child's ;  and  a  half  sob  seemed  to  rise  in  her  throat  as  she 
spoke  the  last  words,  and  a  tell-tale  moisture  shone  in  her 
eyes. 

He  had  awkwardly  set  the  bottle  back  on  the  bench ;  an'd 
when  she  prepared  to  move  on,  he  bent  over  to  seize  the  bottle 
and  carry  it  for  her.  In  his  nervousness  he  did  not  heed  that 
she,  too,  was  stooping  forward ;  and  only  when  their  heads 
came  in  contact  did  he  realize  how  near  he  had  stood  to  her. 
A  deep  scarlet  overspread  his  sallow  face,  while  Mrs.  Clayton 
said,  "Oh,  will  you  carry  the  bottle  for  me?  Thanks.  I 
wanted  to  bathe  my  hand,  and  was  afraid  to  go  more  than 
once  through  the  fog  and  wind." 

They  reached  the  cottage,  where  he  deposited  the  bottle  on 
the  door-steps,  and  withdrew  with  a  somewhat  awkward*,  but 
perfectly  chivalrous  bow. 

After  breakfast,  when  the  ground  was  still  too  wet  to  walk 
out,  Jenny,  sitting  in  the  low  rocking-chair  by  the  open  door, 


IO8  OVERLAND    TALES. 

was  startled  by  footsteps  crunching  under  the  window ;  and  a 
moment  later  Mr.  Brodie  placed  a  bottle  at  her  feet. 

"I  thought  it  might  be  better  for  your  wrist  to  have  the 
water  hot  to  bathe  it  in ;  that 's  just  from  the  spring,  and  I 
walked  fast."  In  spite  of  the  unvarnished  speech,  there  was 
something  about  the  man  that  made  it  plain  to  her  why  peo- 
ple involuntarily  spoke  of  him  as  "the  gentleman,"  when  his 
partner  was  always  spoken  of  merely  as  his  partner. 

It  was  only  common  politeness  that  she  should  allow  him  to 
sit  on  the  door-step,  while  she  immersed  the  soft,  white  hand ; 
and  the  bottle  of  hot  spring  water  was  repeated,  till  she  de- 
clared the  ground  dry  enough  to  walk  down  to  the  spring  with 
him.  Any  number  of  necks  were  stretched  from  parlor-doors 
and  windows,  when  the  shy,  bashful  gentleman  from  Siskiyou 
was  seen  escorting  Mrs.  Clayton  ;  but  falling  in  with  a  train 
of  ladies  at  the  Springs,  they  all  walked  back  together.  Mr. 
Brodie,  unnoticed  apparently  by  Jenny,  and  uncomfortable 
among  so  many  of  the  "  contrary  se?,"  quietly  slipped  away 
under  the  shadow  of  a  clump  of  young  trees,  where  he  was 
joined  directly  by  his  partner,  who  had  watched  him  uneasily 
all  the  morning. 

It  was  a  warm,  cloudless  day,  a  few  weeks  later,  and  Mrs. 
Clayton  had  not  joined  the  picnic  party  —  because,  Ben. 
Brodie  said  to  himself,  with  a  flutter  of  his  unsophisticated 
heart,  he  had  felt  too  unwell  in  the  morning  to  go.  Going 
down  to  the  Springs  alone,  Jenny  met  his  partner,  and  asked 
pleasantly  whether  Mr.  Brodie  had  yet  recovered  from  his 
attack  of  last  night. 

"Thank  you,  Miss,  he's  better;  but  it's  my  opinion  as 
how  he  'd  get  well  much  quicker  if  he  left  these  Springs  and 
went  down  to  'Frisco  for  a  spell." 

"  But,  Mr.  Perkins,  his  liver  is  affected ;  and  these  waters 
are  said  to  be  very  beneficial." 

"Yes,  Miss,  it  was  his  liver;  but  I  think  as  how  it's  in 


THE    GENTLEMAN  FROM  .SISKIYOU.       IOQ 

the  chist  now;  and  " — doggedly  aside  — "  mebbee  the  heart, 
too;  and  he  '11  never  be  himself  again  while  he  's  up  here." 

"  Oh,  you  must  not  see  things  so  black.  See,  there  comes 
Mr.  Brodie  now." 

"Yes — "  something  like  an  oath  was  smothered  between 
the  bearded  lips,  and  the  shaggy  eyebrows  were  lowered 
portentously — "so  I  see.  Ben,  didn't  I  tell  yer  to  stay  in 
the  house,  and  I  'd  fetch  yer  the  water?  " 

Whenever  Si  Perkins  addressed  Jenny  as  "Miss" — 
which  was  almost  invariably  his  custom  —  it  made  her  think 
of  a  short  conversation  between  Mr.  Brodie  and  herself,  soon 
after  their  first  acquaintance.  He  had  asked  her,  with  an 
assumed  indifference,  but  a  nervous  tremor  in  his  voice,  "And 
you  are  a  widow,  Mrs.  Clayton  ?  "  upon  which  she  had  turned 
sharply  and  said,  snappishly,  "Would  I  be  away  up  here  all 
alone  if  I  had  a  husband?"  It  flashed  through  her  mind 
again,  as  she  saw  the  partner's  darkened  brow  and  working 
lips  when  Mr.  Brodie  answered,  "  It 's  all  right,  Si ;  I  wanted 
to  come;  "  and  he  laughed  a  short,  confused  laugh  that  stood 
for  any  number  of  unexpressed  sentiments  —  particularly  when 
Jenny  was  by. 

"Shall  we  walk  up  toward  the  garden?"  he  asked  of 
Jenny. 

"  I  think  there  is  shade  all  the  way  up,"  she  replied,  throw- 
ing an  uneasy  look  on  Si  Perkins's  scowling  face.  "You 
may  light  your  cigar,  if  you  feel  well  enough  to  smoke." 
Mr.  Brodie  turned  to  his  partner  to  ask  for  a  match,  and 
the  next  moment  left  him  standing  alone  in  the  sun,  as  though 
he  had  no  more  existence  for  him. 

They  halted  many  times  on  their  way  to  the  garden.  It 
was  in  an  opposite  direction  from  the  Springs ;  but  here  as 
there  the  road  had  been  partly  cut  out  on  the  mountain-side 
—  partly  filled  in  —  so  that  it  formed  a  terrace  overhanging 
the  dense  forest-growth  in  the  ravine  below,  while  on  the 
10 


HO  OVERLAND    TALES. 

banks  and  mountain-tops  above  grew  pines  and  madrones, 
the  manzanite  shrub  and  treacherous  gloss  of  the  poison-oak 
making  the  whole  look  like  a  carefully  planted  park.  The 
"garden"  was  a  little  mountain  valley,  taking  its  name  from 
an  enclosed  patch,  where  nothing  was  grown,  but  where  the 
neglected  fields  were  kept  fresh  and  green  by  the  little  rivulet 
flowing  from  the  cold  spring  at  the  foot  of  an  immense  syca- 
more. Farther  on  were  groups  of  young  oaks,  and  under 
these  were  benches ;  but  Jenny  preferred  sitting  in  the  shade 
of  the  pines  on  the  clean,  sweet  grass.  The  birds,  never 
molested  here,  hovered  fearlessly  about  them,  singing  and 
chirping,  the  blue  and  yellow  butterflies  keeping  time  to  the 
music. 

For  quite  a  while  Mr.  Brodie  had  been  watching  Jenny's 
lithe  figure  darting  hither  and  thither,  trying  to  take  the 
butterflies  prisoners  under  her  hat ;  her  eyes  sparkled,  and 
she  shouted  merrily  whenever  she  had  secured  a  prize,  which, 
after  a  moment's  triumph,  she  always  set  free  again. 

"Come  and  sit  down,"  called  Mr.  Brodie  to  her,  "or  you 
will  hurt  your  hand  again,  and  all  my  three  weeks'  doctoring 
will  be  thrown  away." 

"  It  hurts  me  now,"  said  Jenny,  ruefully,  "for  I  struck  it 
against  that  tree." 

She  held  up  the  offending  hand,  and  he  inspected  it  nar- 
rowly, looking  up  suddenly  into  her  eyes,  as  though  to  read 
in  them  an  answer  to  something  he  had  just  thought.  But  it 
was  hard  to  read  anything  there,  though  Jenny  had  the  sweet- 
est eyes  in  the  world  —  laughing  and  sad  by  turns,  and  of 
warm  liquid  light.  What  their  color  was,  it  was  hard  to 
determine.  They'had  been  called  black,  hazel,  gray ;  never 
blue.  Her  smile  was  ,as  unfathomable  as  her  eyes  ;  and  you 
could  read  nothing  of  her  life,  her  history,  her  character, 
from  either  brow  or  lip.  Her  hand  alone  —  it  was  the  right 
one  —  as  it  rested  on  the  sward  beside  her,  might  have  told 


THE    GENTLEMAN  FROM  SISKIYOU.       Ill 

to  one  better  versed  in  such  reading  than  Ben  Brodie,  how, 
like  Theodore  Storm's  "  Elizabeth,"  it  had,  "through  many 
a  sleepless  night,  been  resting  on  a  sore,  sick  heart." 

He  raised  the  hand  tenderly,  not  understanding  its  secret, 
and  asked,  stroking  it  as  we  do  a  child's,  "What  was  my 
partner  saying  to  you  as  I  came  up  a  while  ago?  " 

"  He  wants  you  to  go  to  San  Francisco,  away  from  here. 
Would  you  go  and  leave  me  here  alone,  when  you  know  how 
lonesome  I  should  be  without  you?  " 

She  heard  his  low,  nervous  laugh,  as  he  moved  uneasily, 
and  held  the  hand  tighter ;  but  when  she  looked  up  into  his 
face,  expecting  an  answer,  it  came  in  his  usual  abrupt,  or,  as 
Jenny  said,  "jerky"  style. 

"  No,  of  course  I  wouldn't  go.  I  '11  stay  as  long  as  you 
want  me  to.  I  —  I  —  like  you  —  pretty  well. ' ' 

Jenny's  paling  cheek  blazed  up  crimson,  and  she  looked 
fairly  aghast  as  she  repeated  mechanically,  "  'Like  you  pretty 
well.'  Thank  you.  Like  me,  indeed  !  "  She  had  drawn 
away  her  hand,  like  a  pettish  child,  and  she  muttered,  a 
wicked  smile  breaking  over  her  face,  "  I  don't  believe  the 
man  could  love  any  one  if  he  tried.  But  I  '11  find  out ; "  and 
she  turned  again  to  where  he  sat,  disconsolate  at  the  loss  of 
her  hand. 

Her  quicker  ear  caught  the  crackling  of  dry  twigs  before 
he  could  speak  again,  and  a  shrill  scream  burst  from  her  lips. 
He  was  on  his  feet  in  an  instant,  and  flung  his  arms  about 
the  trembling  form  before  his  eye  could  follow  the  direction 
of  hers. 

"The  bear!"  she  stammered;  "the  grizzly  —  there, 
there  !  "  and  the  story  of  the  huge  grizzly  having  been  seen 
in  the  mountains  those  last  weeks  flashed  through  his  mind. 

"Be  still !  "  he  said,  as  she  glided  from  his  arms  to  the 
ground;  "he  cannot  hurt  you  till  he  has  killed  me."  He 
stooped  to  pick  up  a  fallen  branch,  and  as  he  did  so  his  eyes 


112  OVERLAND    TALES. 

came  on  a  level  with  a  large  black  calf,  rolling  over  and  over 
in  the  tall  grass.  He  flung  the  stick  from  him  with  a  disgusted 
"  Pshaw !  "  and  Jenny  dropped  her  hands  from  her  eyes  when 
his  laugh  fell  on  her  ear.  She  joined  in  the  laugh,  though 
hers  sounded  a  little  hysterical ;  and  then  insisted  on  return- 
ing immediately,  and  his  promise  to  keep  the  tragi-comic 
intermezzo  a  profound  secret. 

Days  passed  before  Jenny  would  venture  out  again ;  and 
poor  Mr.  Brodie  wandered  about  like  one  lost,  dreading  to 
visit  the  cottage,  because  of  a  sudden  indescribable  reserve  of 
the  fair  tenant,  yet  held  as  by  invisible  hands  in  the  nearest 
neighborhood  of  the  place.  One  day,  sitting  with  blinds 
closed  and  a  headache,  ready  for  an  excuse  to  all  who  should 
come  to  tempt  her  out,  Jenny  missed  the  tall  form  passing 
shyly  by  the  door  half  a  dozen  times  per  diem.  The  next 
morning  she  met  Si  Perkins  —  by  the  merest  accident,  of 
course,  on  her  part  —  coming  from  the  spring  with  a  bottle 
of  water. 

"  Is  Mr.  Brodie  sick  ?  "  she  asked,  quickly. 

"Yes,  Miss;  he  was  took  bad  night  before  last;  but  he's 
better,"  he  added,  anxious  to  prevent  —  he  hardly  knew 
what. 

"Very  well ;  you  may  tell  Mr.  Brodie  that  I  am  coming  to 
see  him  and  read  to  him  this  afternoon."  She  spoke  deter- 
minedly, almost  savagely,  as  though  she  anticipated  finding 
Si  Perkins  at  the  door  with  drawn  sword,  ready  to  dispute 
the  entrance. 

She  was  shocked  to  find  Mr.  Brodie  so  pale  and  thin  as  he 
lay  on  the  bed  that  afternoon ;  and  Si  Perkins,  in  a  tone 
that  seemed  to  accuse  her  of  being  the  cause,  said,  "  I  told 
you  it  was  his  chist,  Miss ;  he  's  getting  powerful  weak  up 
here  in  the  mountains,  and  yit  he  won't  go  down." 

She  was  an  angel  while  he  was  too  sick  to  leave  his  room, 
sitting  by  him  for  hours,  reading  to  him  in  her  soft  child's 


THE   GENTLEMAN  FROM  SISKIYOU.       11$ 

voice,  and  speaking  to  him  so  gently  and  tenderly  that  he  felt 
a  better,  and  oh  !  so  much  happier  a  man  when  he  first  walked 
out  beside  her  again. 

Then  there  came  a  day  when  Ben  Brodie  stopped  at  the 
cottage  of  his  kind  nurse,  and  with  the  air  of  a  culprit  asked 
Jenny  to  come  with  him,  "away  up  into  the  mountains." 
The  light  that  flashed  in  her  eyes  a  moment  was  quenched  by 
something  that  looked  strangely  like  a  tear,  as  she  turned  to 
reach  for  her  hat.  It  was  early  afternoon,  and  most  people 
were  still  in  their  cottages,  with  blinds,  and  perhaps  eyes  too, 
closed.  The  two  walked  slowly,  or  climbed  rather,  resting 
often  and  looking  back  to  where  they  could  see  the  white 
cottages  blinking  through  the  trees.  The  wind  blew  only 
enough  to  rustle  the  pine  branches,  without  stirring  the  sobs 
and  wails  that  lay  dormant  in  those  trees.  Jays  and  wood- 
peckers went  with  them,  and  many  a  shining  flower  was 
broken  by  the  way.  At  last  Jenny  stopped  and  looked 
around. 

"Don't  let  us  go  farther  —  who  knows  but  what  we  may 
encounter  another  bear?"  she  said  roguishly;  and  he  pre- 
pared a  soft  seat  for  her  under  the  pines,  by  pulling  handfuls 
of  grass  and  heaping  it  up  in  one  place. 

She  smiled  to  herself  as  she  watched  him ;  his  awkwardness 
had  left  him,  and  for  the  comfort  of  one  whom  he  only 
"liked  pretty  well,"  he  was  taking  a  great  deal  of  pains,  she 
thought.  When  she  was  seated,  and  had  made  him  share  the 
grass  seat,  the  restraint  suddenly  returned,  and  he  fell  to  strok- 
ing her  hand  again,  and  stammered  something  about  her 
wrist  being  better. 

"Yes,"  she  affirmed,  "and  I  mean  to  return  to  the  city  in 
a  day  or  two." 

He  blushed  like  a  girl.  "  May  I  go  with  you  ?  "  he  asked ; 
and  then  jumped  at  once  into  the  midst  of  a  "  declaration" 
—  which  had  evidently  been  gotten  by  heart  —  winding  up 
10*  H 


114  OVERLAND    TALES. 

by  asking  again,  "and  now  may  I  go  with  you  to  San  Fran- 
cisco, Jenny?  and  will  you  marry  me?  " 

Her  eyes  had  been  fixed  on  the  lone  bare  crag  away  off 
across  the  valley ;  and  the  color  in  them  had  changed  from 
light  gray  to  deep  black,  and  had  faded  again  to  a  dull  heavy 
gray. 

"  You  may  go  to  San  Francisco,  of  course,  though  I  shall 
not  see  you  there.  And  'I  like  you  pretty  well,'  too;  but 
you  must  not  dare  to  dream  that  I  could  ever  marry  you." 

A  little  linnet  in  the  tree  above  them  had  hopped  from 
branch  to  branch,  and  now  sat  on  the  lowest,  almost  facing 
them.  When  Jenny's  voice,  stone-cold  and  harsh,  had  ceased, 
he  broke  into  a  surprised  little  chirp,  and  then  uttered  quick, 
sharp  notes  of  reproof  or  remonstrance.  Jenny  understood 
either  the  language  of  the  bird,  or  what  the  wild,  startled 
eyes  looking  into  hers  said,  for  the  hand  that  had  lain  in  his 
was  tightly  clinched  beside  her,  telling  a  tale  she  would  not 
let  her  face  repeat. 

When  the  lamp  had  been  lighted  in  her  cottage  that  night, 
she  stood  irresolute  by  the  window  from  where  she  could  see 
the  Brodie-Perkins  habitation.  On  her  way  to  the  dining- 
room  she  had  come  unawares  on  Si  Perkins  instructing  a 
waiter  to  bring  tea  to  their  cottage ;  and  though  she  had  asked 
no  question,  her  eyes  had  rested  wistfully  on  the  partner's 
stern  face.  Now  she  paced  the  room,  her  face  flushed,  her 
hands  clasped  above  her  aching  head,  then  dropped  again 
idle  and  nerveless  by  her  side. 

"It  is  too  late,"  she  said,  at  last;  "and  it  can  never,  never 
be.  Then  why  make  myself  wretched  over  it?"  and  with  a 
sudden  revulsion  of  feeling  she  raised  the  curtain  and  looked 
steadily  over  to  the  other  cottage.  "It  is  only  the  law  of 
reprisals,  after  all,  Ben  Brodie  !  To  be  sure  you  did  not 
break  my  heart  —  but  —  that  other  man  —  and  —  you  are  all 
men."  Her  voice  had  died  to  a  whisper;  and,  drawing 


THE    GENTLEMAN  FROM  S I S  K I  Y  O  U.       11$ 

writing  material  toward  her  at  the  table,  she  was  in  the  midst 
of  her  letter  before  the  vengeful  light  died  out  of  her  eyes. 
Once  she  laid  her  head  on  her  arm  and  sobbed  bitterly ;  but 
she  finished  the  letter,  closed  and  directed  it,  and  turned  down 
the  light  so  that  she  could  not  be  seen  going  from  the  cottage. 
The  night  air  was  damp  and  chilly,  and  before  descending 
the  three  wooden  steps  that  led  from  the  little  stoop  to  the 
ground,  her  unsteady  hand  sought  the  dress-pocket  to  drop 
her  letter  in ;  and  then  she  drew  the  shawl  and  hood  close 
about  her. 

She  shuddered  the  next  morning,  as  she  threw  a  last  look 
back  into  the  room  from  which  her  trunk  and  baggage  had 
already  been  taken,  and  she  muttered  something  about  the 
dreariness  of  an  empty  room  and  an  empty  heart.  But  when 
her  numerous  dear  friends  came  to  the  stage  to  bid  a  last  fare- 
well, Jenny's  face  looked  so'radiant  that  many  a  one  turned 
with  secret  envy  from  the  woman  to  whom  life  must  seem 
like  one  continuous  holiday.  Si  Perkins,  with  eyebrows 
drawn  deep  down,  was  attentively  studying  a  newspaper  by 
the  open  window  of  the  reading-room ;  and  when  Jenny 
threw  a  look  back  from  the  stage,  she  fancied  that  a  trembling 
hand  was  working  at  the  blinds  of  the  two  partners'  cottage ; 
and  the  sallow,  ghastly  face,  and  wild,  startled  eyes  of  yester- 
day, rose  up  reproachfully  before  her. 

The  day  dragged  slowly  on ;  "  from  heat  to  heat  "  the  sun 
had  kissed  the  tree-tops  with  its  drowsy  warmth,  hushing  to 
sleep  the  countless  birds  that  make  the  mountain-side  their 
home.  With  the  cool  of  evening  came  the  low  breeze  that 
shook  the  sleepers  from  repose,  and  sighed  sadly,  sadly  through 
the  pines. 

"Has  the  stage  come  in?"  asked  Ben  Brodie  slowly,  as 
he  lay  with  closed  eyes  and  feverish  brow  on  his  bed  in  the 
cottage. 

"Nearly  an  hour  ago,"  answered  Si  Perkins,  in  his  growl- 
ing voice.  He  had  tried  hard  to  maintain  his  usual  key,  but 


Il6  OVERLAND    TALES. 

his  eyes  rested  with  deep  concern  on  his  friend's  face  as  he 
spoke. 

"And  was  there  any  one  in  the  stage  whom  you  knew?  " 

"No  one." 

The  sick  man  opened  his  eyes,  and  closed  them  again 
wearily.  His  lips  worked  spasmodically  for  an  instant ;  then 
he  asked  resolutely,  but  in  an  almost  inaudible  tone,  "  Did 
not  she  come  back,  Si  ?  Are  you  sure  ?  Did  you  see  all  the 
passengers?" 

"It's  no  use,  Ben;  she's  gone,  and  she'll  never  come 
back." 

"But,  Si" —  the  quivering  lips  could  hardly  frame  the 
words  —  ' '  have  you  been  to  her  cottage  ?  I  had  not  asked 
you  to  look,  you  know ;  but  will  you  go  to  her  room  now, 
and  see  if  she  has  not  come  back?  " 

Without  a  word  Si  took  his  hat,  his  lips  twitching  almost 
as  perceptibly  as  Ben  Brodie's.  When  he  had  reached  the 
door  the  sick  man  said,  "You  are  not  mad,  Si,  are  you? 
Have  patience  with  me ;  I  shall  be  better  —  so  much  better 
—  soon,  and  then  you  will  forgive  me." 

Si  turned  and  held  the  feverish  hand  a  moment,  muttering 
that  he  'd  go  to  —  a  very  hot  place  if  his  partner  bade  him, 
and  then  left  the  room. 

Though  he  knew  the  utter  folly  of  such  a  proceeding,  he 
went  to  the  vacant  cottage,  and  peered  through  the  open  blind 
into  the  vacant  room.  There  was  something  so  death-like 
and  still  about  the  place  that  he  turned  with  heavy  heart  and 
eyes  bent  down  to  the  three  steps  that  led  from  the  stoop  to 
the  ground.  Something  white  shimmered  up  out  of  the 
crevice  between  the  stoop  and  the  first  step,  and  he  bent 
down,  saying  to  himself,  "If  it's  only  a  scrap  of  paper,  Ben 
is  spoony  enough  to  want  it,  and  kiss  it  mebbee,  because  it 
was  hers." 

The  dampness  of  the  past  night  had  saturated  the  paper, 
and  drying  again  in  the  sun,  a  portion  of  the  letter  —  for  such 


THE    GENTLEMAN  FROM  S I S  K I  Y  O  U,       llj 

it  proved  to  be  —  adhered  to  the  board  as  Si  attempted  to 
draw  it  out.  The  letter  unfolded  itself,  and  fluttered  lightly 
before  Si's  face,  who  bestowed  a  blessing  on  the  "cobweb  " 
paper,  and  then  doggedly  sat  down  to  read  what  was  written 
on  it.  His  shaggy  eyebrows  seemed  to  grow  heavier  as  he 
read,  and  his  face  turned  a  livid  brown  and  then  red  again. 
When  he  had  finished,  he  threw  a  hasty  look  over  toward  their 
cottage,  and  crushing  the  letter  in  fierce  but  silent  wrath,  he 
dropped  the  wad  into  his  pocket  and  slowly  retraced  his  steps. 

"  She  has  n't  come  ?  " 

If  Ben  had  moved  from  his  bed  during  Si's  absence,  the 
latter  did  not  notice  any  derangement  of  furniture  or  bed- 
clothes, and  he  now  dropped  heavily  into  a  chair  beside  his 
friend's  bed. 

"  When  you  get  well,  old  fellow,  we  must  go." 

< '  Where  ?     To  San  Francisco  ? ' ' 

"  San  Francisco  be .     No;  to  Siskiyou." 

There  was  no  response.  The  fever  had  gone  down,  and 
Ben  lay  pale  and  still,  like  a  corpse  almost,  except  that  his 
fingers  seemed  striving  to  touch  something  which  evaded  his 
grasp.  The  wind  had  grown  stronger,  and  on  it  came  borne 
the  notes  of  the  grossbeak,  who  strays  down  from  the  mountain- 
tops  in  the  evening,  and  makes  those  who  hear  him  think  of 
home,  of  absent  friends,  and  of  all  we  hold  dearest,  and  all 
who  have  gone  from  us  farthest  in  this  world. 

"  How  mournfully  the  wind  sings  !  "  said  Ben,  softly.  "  It 
seems  like  her  voice  calling  to  me.  But  I  will  never  see  her 
again  — .  She  could  not  think  of  me  as  I  did  of  her.  I 
would  lay  down  my  life  for  her ;  but  she  could  only  like  me 
a  little.  She  was  too  good  for  me." 

"  Ben,  Ben  !  I  can't  bear  to  hear  you  talk  so.  Oh  !  that 
wicked,  wicked  woman  ! ' ' 

"Hush,  Si;  she  was  an  angel;  and  when  I  was  sick  she 
taught  me  to  pray."  The  gaunt  hand  that  had  been  raised  as 
if  to  ward  off  the  harsh  words  his  partner  would  say,  fell  back 


Il8  OVERLAND    TALES. 

on  his  breast,  where  he  laid  it  across  the  other.  "  Our  Father 
who  art  in  heaven — "  The  fingers  stiffened,  and  the  heavy 
lids  sank  over  the  weary  eyes. 

"  Ben,  old  pard,  look  at  me  !  Speak  to  me  !  "  He  bent 
over  the  motionless  form,  and  laid  his  hand  caressingly  on  the 
wiry  black  hair.  "  Don't  you  leave  me  alone  in  the  world." 
The  trembling  hand  glided  down  to  his  friend's  breast  and 
laid  itself  over  the  heart.  But  the  heart  stood  still ;  and  as 
he  drew  back  his  hand,  it  touched  a  cold,  smooth  object  that 
fell  to  the  floor.  He  stooped,  and  lifted  a  small  vial  to  the 
light,  and  as  he  did  so  a  great  scalding  tear  fell  on  the  label, 
just  where  the  word  "  Poison  "  was  traced  in  large  letters. 

When  Si  Perkins  returned  to  the  Placer  Mines,  on  Yreka 
Flats,  he  brought  with  him  only  two  articles  which  he  seemed 
to  consider  of  value.  They  were  always  kept  under  lock  and 
key.  The  one  was  a  small  vial,  with  the  word  "  Poison  "  on 
the  label,  blurred  and  blotted ;  the  other  a  letter,  carefully 
smoothed  out,  after  having  been,  to  all  appearances,  cruelly 
crushed  and  crumpled. 

The  letter  ran  thus : 

"  HOT  SPRINGS,  June  28. 

"  DEAR  JIM  :  I  am  coming  home,  and  may  be  in  San  Fran- 
cisco even  before  this  reaches  you,  unless  I  should  be  seized 
with  a  notion  to  remain  in  San  Jose,  or  visit  the  Warm 
Springs,  or  the  Mission.  My  wrist  is  not  strong  yet ;  and  to 
tell  you  the  truth,  only  '  the  persecutions  of  a  man '  are  driving 
me  away  from  here.  I  can  see  you  laugh,  and  hear  you  say- 
ing, '  At  your  old  tricks,  Jenny. '  But  though  I  shall  recount 
the  whole  affair  to  you  when  we  meet,  I  shall  not  allow  you  to 
laugh  at  the  discomfiture  of  the  gentleman  from  Siskiyou.  He 
is  so  terribly  in  earnest ;  and  —  oh  !  I  remember  but  too  well 
the  blow  you  struck  my  heart  when  you  first  told  me  that  you 
could  never  belong  to  me;  that  I  could  never  be  your 
lawful  wife.  But  I  don't  mean  to  grow  sentimental.  You 
may  please  issue  orders  to  Ah  Sing  and  Chy  Lun  to  '  set  my 
house  in  order,'  and  look  for  me  any  time  between  this  and 
the  'glorious  Fourth."  JENNY." 


SOMETHING  ABOUT  MY  PETS. 

MANY  a  bitter  tear  they  have  cost  me  —  the  different 
pets  I  have  had:  not  their  possession,  but  their  loss, 
which  followed  as  inevitably  as  fate,  and  as  surely  as  day 
follows  night.  As  far  as  my  recollection  goes  back,  my  four- 
footed  friends  have  occupied  prominent  places  in  my  affec- 
tions, and  have  eventually  become  the  cause  of  great  sorrow. 
The  first  doubt  I  ever  felt  of  the  justice  and  humanity  of  the 
world  in  general,  and  my  kinsfolk  in 'particular,  was  because 
of  the  cruel  death  of  my  favorite  dog,  Arno,  who  had  been 
given  away  after  my  older  brother's  death,  to  a  family  who 
had  more  use  and  room  for  a  large  hunting-dog  than  my 
widowed  mother. 

At  first,  he  refused  utterly  to  stay  with  his  new  master ;  but 
when  he  found  that  the  doors  of  his  old  home  were  stead- 
fastly closed  against  him,  he  would  lie  in  wait  for  me  as  I  went 
to  school ;  and  on  my  way  home  in  the  afternoon,  he  would 
always  follow  me,  drawing  back  his  nose  and  fore-paws  only 
in  time  to  prevent  their  being  pinched  in  by  the  sharp-shut- 
ting gate,  and  looking  wistfully  through  the  paling  with  his 
big,  honest  eyes.  Perhaps  my  elders  did  not  understand 
"  dog-language  "  as  I  did ;  but  I  knew  that  Arno  fully  appre- 
ciated the  feeling  which  led  me  to  throw  my  arms  around  his 
neck  and  weep  bitter,  childish  tears  on  his  brown  head  ;  and 
he  felt  comforted  by  my  sympathy,  I  am  sure,  for  he  would 
lick  my  hands,  and  wag  his  long-haired  tail  with  a  little  joyous 
whine,  before  trotting  back  to  the  broad  stone  steps  in  front 
of  his  new  master's  house.  But  night  always  found  him 
under  my  chamber  window,  which  looked  out  on  a  narrow 

119 


I2O  OVERLAND    TALES. 

lane,  used  as  a  thoroughfare ;  and  here  I  could  hear  Irs  deep- 
mouthed  bark  all  night  long,  as  he  kept  fancied  marauders 
and  real  dogs  from  encroaching  on  our  premises  and  his  self- 
chosen  battle-ground.  For  he  met  his  death  here,  at  last. 

He  had  become  quite  aged  ;  and  the  other  dogs  of  the 
neighborhood  had  frequently  made  common  cause  against 
him,  for  blocking  up  (to  them)  the  passage  in  the  lane,  but 
had  never  yet  been  able  to  rout  him.  One  night,  however, 
they  attacked  him  with  overpowering  numbers,  and  punished 
him  so  severely  that  it  was  found  to  be  necessary,  or,  at  least, 
merciful,  the  next  morning,  to  send  a  bullet  through  his  head 
and  end  his  misery.  To  me  this  all  seemed  terribly  cruel, 
and  I  cried  wildly,  and  sobbed  out  my  reproaches  against 
everybody  for  having  left  him  to  lie  out  in  the  street  at  night, 
instead  of  allowing  him  a  safe  shelter  in  the  house.  I  re- 
fused to  be  comforted,  or  adopt  any  other  dog  in  his  place ; 
but  bestowed  my  affection  and  caresses  impartially  on  all  the 
stray  dogs  and  horses  that  happened  to  cross  my  path. 

Some  time  after  I  was  married,  a  little  spotted  dog,  of  no 
particular  breed,  sought  shelter  from  the  rain  on  the  base- 
ment-steps, one  day,  and  refused  to  "tramp"  when  the 
shower  was  over.  She  was  a  short-legged,  smooth-haired 
little  thing,  with  the  brightest  eyes  I  ever  saw  in  a  dog's 
head.  Tiny  soon  became  my  pet,  and  amply  repaid  us  for 
the  food  and  shelter  we  had  given  her.  She  learned  every- 
thing, and  with  such  ease,  that  I  sometimes  suspected  I  had 
taken  into  my  family  one  who  had  formerly  been  a  public 
circus  performer.  She  could  stand  on  her  hind  legs  and  beg 
for  an  apple  or  a  piece  of  sugar ;  she  could  find  and  fetch  a 
hidden  handkerchief,  glove,  or  cap  ;  she  could  jump  through 
a  hoop,  and  could  pick  out  from  among  a  lot  of  articles  the 
shawls,  comforters,  or  hats  belonging  to  myself,  or  any  mem- 
ber of  the  family.  On  the  approach  of  a  buggy  to  the  house, 
she  would  rush  to  the  window,  and  if  she  recognized  it  as  the 


SOMETHING  ABOUT  MY  PETS.  121 

captain's,  would  scratch  and  whine  till  I  opened  the  door  for 
her,  in  sheer  self-defence.  Dashing  up  to  the  buggy,  she 
would  wag  her  tail  with  such  vehemence  as  threatened  to  upset 
her  little  round  body  —  begging  in  this  way  for  a  glove,  or 
the  long  buggy-whip,  to  drag  into  the  house. 

Tiny  also  knew  the  name  of  the  different  members  of  the 
family,  whether  they  occupied  the  same  house  with  us,  or  only 
came  on  visits.  If  mother  came  on  a  visit,  for  instance,  I 
could  send  Tiny  from  the  kitchen  with  a  key,  a  paper,  or 
anything  she  could  carry,  and  on  my  order,  "Give  it  to 
mother,"  she  would  carry  it  to  the  parlor,  or  wherever  mother 
might  be,  and  lay  it  carefully  in  her  lap,  or  on  the  sofa  beside 
her.  On  the  order,  "Kiss  the  captain,"  she  would  immedi- 
ately dart  at  that  gentleman,  and,  if  he  ever  so  artfully 
avoided  her  little  tongue  for  the  time  being,  she  would  watch 
the  first  opportunity  to  climb  into  his  lap,  or  jump  on  to  a 
piece  of  furniture,  to  execute  the  command. 

Soon  after  Tiny's  advent,  a  young  stag-hound  was  given  to 
the  captain,  and  him  she  took  under  her  wing,  though  in  size 
he  could  boast  of  three  times  her  own  volume.  Dick,  I  am 
very  sorry  to  own,  was  not  so  well  treated  as  Tiny;  and  I 
smite  my  breast  even  now,  and  say  very  penitently,  "  mea 
culpa"  when  I  think  of  how  I  hurt  him,  one  day.  I  was  lying 
on  the  sofa,  half  asleep  from  the  heat  and  the  exertion  of 
cutting  the  leaves  of  a  new  magazine.  Presently,  Dick  ap- 
proached, and  before  I  could  open  my  eyes,  or  ward  him  off, 
he  had  jumped  on  the  sofa  and  settled  full  on  my  head  and 
face.  Angry  and  half-stifled,  I  flung  the  dog  with  all  my  might 
to  the  floor,  where  he  set  up  such  a  pitiful  crying,  that  I  knew 
he  must  be  seriously  hurt.  Jumping  up,  I  saw  him,  quite  a 
distance  from  the  sofa,  holding  up  his  foreleg,  on  which  his 
paw  was  dangling  in  a  loose,  out-of-place  manner.  Compre- 
hending what  I  had  done,  I  carried  him  into  the  next  room,  and 
poured  the  basin  full  of  water,  in  which  I  held  his  paw  j  and 


122  OVERLAND    TALES. 

then  bound  rags  on  the  dislocated  limb,  steeping  the  paw  into 
the  water  occasionally,  to  keep  down  the  swelling  till  the 
captain  should  come.  Sorry  as  I  felt  for  having  inflicted 
such  pain  on  the  poor  animal,"  it  was  a  perfect  farce  to  watch 
his  proceedings,  and  I  had  laughed  till  my  sides  ached  before 
the  captain  got  home.  It  so  happened  that  mother  and  one 
or  two  other  near  friends  came  in  during  the  course  of  the 
day.  As  soon  as  any  one  entered  the  room,  Dick,  who  had 
been  allowed  to  take  up  his  quarters  on  a  blanket  in  the  sit- 
ting-room, would  hobble  up,  hold  out  his  rag-wrapped  paw, 
and,  elevating  his  nose,  would  utter  heart-rending  cries  of 
pain,  thus  "passing  his  hat  for  a  pennyworth  of  sympathy," 
as  unmistakably  as  I  have  known  human  beings  to  do  many  a 
time  before.  Then,  with  cries  and  grimaces,  he  would  induce 
the  beholder  to  follow  him  pityingly  into  the  next  room, 
where  he  would  immerse  his  foot  in  the  water,  as  I  had  made 
him  do,  once  or  twice.  During  this  performance  Tiny  would 
keep  close  behind  him,  and  with  little  sympathetic  whines, 
would  echo  all  his  cries  and  complainings ;  and  this  show  was 
repeated  whenever  they  could  get  a  fresh  spectator. 

At  the  same  time,  we  had  in  our  possession  a  horse,  which, 
for  sagacity,  kindness,  and  docility,  outshone  all  the  horses  I 
have  ever  had  the  fortune  to  become  acquainted  with.  Not 
the  most  partial  admiration  of  Kitty's  many  virtues  could  lead 
me  into  believing  her  to  be  beautiful,  though  she  was  by  no 
means  an  ugly  horse.  A  bright  bay,  with  well-shaped  head, 
she  was  too  short-bodied,  though  the  long  legs  seemed  to  lay 
claim  to  an  admixture  of  English  blood.  Kitty  was  a  saddle- 
nag  as  well  as  buggy-horse,  and  the  captain  always  chose  her 
when  he  had  a  fatiguing  ride  to  take ;  though,  for  my  part,  I 
should  have  scorned  to  be  seen  mounted  on  an  ugly,  stump- 
tailed  thing  like  her. 

This  is  ingratitude,  however ;  I  have  never  had  a  more  de- 
voted friend  than  Kitty.  She  was  assigned  to  the  duty  of 


SOMETHING  ABOUT  MY  PETS.  123 

taking  me  out  to  "mother's  house,"  where  she  was  always 
well  pleased  to  go,  for  I  used  to  take  her  out  of  the  harness 
and  let  her  run  loose  under  the  orchard  trees.  I  have  never 
met  with  a  horse  so  expert  at  picking  apples  as  she  was;  she 
never  injured  the  trees,  and  seemed  always  to  know  exactly 
which  were  the  best  "eating  apples."  When  the  time  came 
to  go  home,  Kitty,  like  a  sensible,  grateful  horse,  was  always 
on  hand ;  the  only  trouble  was  to  get  her  back  into  harness 
again  —  it  generally  being  just  milking-time  then,  and  I  never 
liked  to  admit  to  any  of  the  men  that  I  could  not  harness  a 
horse  as  well  as  saddle  it.  So,  it  often  happened  that,  after  I 
got  on  the  road,  Kitty  would  stop  short  and  refuse  to  go  a  step 
farther.  Whipping  would  do  no  good  on  such  occasions  ;  she 
would  only  switch  her  tail,  stamp  her  foot  impatiently,  and 
turn  her  head  around,  as  if  to  say :  "  Don't  you  know  that  I 
have  good  reasons  for  acting  so?  "  On  throwing  down  the 
lines,  and  examining  the  harness,  I  would  be  sure  to  find  that 
some  buckle  had  been  left  unfastened,  or  some  strap  was  drag- 
ging under  her  feet.  One  day  a  soldier  came  to  my  assistance, 
and  he  said  it  was  the  greatest  wonder  in  the  world  that  the 
horse  had  not  kicked  the  buggy  to  pieces,  for  I  had  fastened 
a  buckle  on  the  wrong  side,  and  with  every  step  she  took  the 
buckle  had  pressed  sorely  into  poor  Kitty's  flesh.  I  could 
appreciate  Kitty's  good  behavior  all  the  more  for  having  seen 
her  kick  dashboard  and  shafts  to  splinters,  one  day,  when  the 
captain  drove  her,  and  some  part  of  the  harness  gave  way. 

The  friendship,  however,  was  reciprocal;  for  many  a 
bucket  of  cool,  fresh  water,  many  a  tea-tray  full  of  oats,  and 
many  an  apple  and  lump  of  sugar  had  Kitty  received  at  my 
hands,  when  she  stopped  at  the  door,  or  was  taken  into  the 
back  yard,  to  await  her  master's  leisure  to  ride.  The  sad- 
dle she  liked  best,  for  under  it  she  could  move  about  in  the 
yard.  She  would  follow  me  like  a  dog,  and  tried  to  make  her 
way  into  the  basement  one  day,  where  I  had  gone  to  get  some 


124  OVERLAND    TALES. 

grain  for  her.  I  always  kept  a  sack  of  oats  in  the  house,  as 
we  had  no  stable,  and  the  horses  were  boarded  at  a  stable 
down  town ;  but  Kitty  would  have  gone  without  her  dinner 
many  a  time  had  it  not  been  for  the  "  private  feeds  "  I  gave 
her,  as  the  captain's  opinion  was  that  horses  should  not  be 
"  pampered  and  spoiled."  Kitty  knew  how  much  I  thought 
of  her,  and  sometimes  presumed  on  it,  too.  I  have  known  her 
—  at  times,  when  the  captain  brought  her  into  the  yard  late  at 
night,  previously  to  sending  her  to  the  stable  —  to  set  up  such 
a  whinnying,  stamping,  and  snorting,  that,  to  the  captain's 
infinite  amusement,  I  was  compelled  to  leave  my  bed  and 
take  her  a  handful  of  oats  or  a  piece  of  sugar.  And  on  the 
street,  if  I  met  the  captain  mounted  on  or  riding  behind 
Kitty,  she  would  instantly  step  on  the  sidewalk  and  make  a 
dive  for  my  pocket,  to  extract  the  apple  she  fancied  concealed 
there.  Moreover,  she  would  allow  Tiny  to  climb  all  over  her 
back;  but  Dick  she  always  greeted  with  a  snort,  and  occa- 
sionally with  a  kick. 

One  day  the  captain  furnished  a  valuable  addition  to  the 
"happy  family,"  without,  in  the  least,  intending  to  do  so. 
It  seems  that  just  as  he  was  leaving  the  house,  he  saw  an  open 
market-wagon,  and  on  it  two  forlorn  chickens  broiling  in  the 
July  sun.  The  man  offered  to  sell  him  the  chickens,  so  he 
bought  them,  threw  them  over  the  fence,  and  called  to  the 
servant  to  unfasten  the  string  fettering  the  feet  of  the  poor 
animals.  His  order  was  not  heard  ;  and  I  knew  nothing  of 
the  existence  of  the  chickens  till  Tiny's  barking  attracted  my 
attention.  There  lay  the  two  chickens,  gasping  and  panting, 
and  the  dogs,  like  all  little  natures,  exhibited  great  delight  at 
being  able  to  worry  and  distress  the  poor,  defenceless  crea- 
tures. I  dragged  the  poor  things  into  the  shade,  cut  their 
fetters,  and  gave  them  "  food  and  drink."  One  of  the  chick- 
ens was  a  gay-feathered  rooster,  the  other,  a  plain-looking 
hen,  who  exhibited,  however,  by  far  the  best  sense,  in  this, 


S 0 ME  THING  ABOUT  MY  PE  TS.  12$ 

that  she  did  not  struggle  to  get  away  from  me  as  "  fighting 
Billy"  did,  but  allowed  me  to  pass  my  hand  over  her  soft 
dress,  accompanying  each  stroke  with  a  low  crooning  "  craw- 
craw,"  as  though  wishing  to  express  her  satisfaction  with  her 
present  position.  When  I  thought  the  chickens  were  both 
safe  and  comfortable  in  the  yard,  I  went  back  to  my  favorite 
resting-place  —  a  soft  rug,  in  front  of  the  sitting-room  fire- 
place. The  summer  was  extraordinarily  warm,  and  I  had  re- 
peatedly wandered  all  over  the  house  in  search  of  the  "  coolest 
place,"  but  had  always  returned  to  this.  Not  far  from  me 
was  a  window,  from  which  the  shutters  were  thrown  back 
directly  after  noon,  as  there  was  shade  then  on  this  side  of  the 
house,  and  nearly  opposite  was  a  door  leading  to  the  vine- 
clad  porch.  Glad  enough  to  pass  a  part  of  the  hot  afternoon 
in  a  siestu,  I  was  surprised  on  waking,  and  stretching  out  my 
feet,  to  push  against  a  soft,  round  ball;  and  the  slow  "craw- 
craw  "  I  heard,  caused  me  to  start  to  a  sitting  posture.  There, 
sure  enough,  was  chicky,  cuddled  up  close  to  my  feet,  repeat- 
ing her  monotonous  song  every  time  I  deigned  to  take  notice 
of  her.  I  had  never  believed  before  that  chickens  had  brains 
enough  to  feel  affection  or  gratitude  towards  anybody ;  but  I 
wish  to  state  as  an  actual  fact  that  chicky,  as  long  as  she  was 
in  my  possession,  never  let  a  day  pass  that  she  did  not  come 
fluttering  up  the  low  steps  to  the  porch  and  visit  me  in  the 
sitting-room.  During  my  regular  siesta  she  was  always  beside 
me;  and  if  I  attempted  to  close  the  door  against  her,  she 
would  fly  up  to  the  window  and  come  in  that  way.  Indeed, 
she  wanted  to  take  up  her  roost  there  altogether ;  and  it  was 
only  with  great  difficulty  I  could  persuade  her  to  remove  to 
the  back-yard. 

Fighting  Billy  proved  by  no  means  so  companionable  as 
chicky :  within  the  first  week  he  had  fought,  single-handed, 
every  rooster  in  the  neighborhood,  and  the  second  week  he 
staggered  about  the  yard  with  his  "peepers"  closed,  and  show- 


126  OVERLAND    TALES. 

ing  general  marks  of  severe  punishment,  from  the  effects  of 
which  he  died,  in  spite  of  aught  we  could  do  for  his  relief. 

But  our  "  happy  family  "  was  broken  up,  after  awhile  :  the 
captain  was  "  called  to  the  wars,"  and,  in  spite  of  all  I  could 
say,  took  Kitty  with  him,  as  the  "  most  reliable  horse."  Kitty 
never  .returned  ;  and  I  spent  one  whole  day,  during  the  cap- 
tain's first  visit  home,  in  saying  :  "  I  told  you  so,"  and  crying 
over  Kitty's  loss.  Next,  Tiny  was  stolen ;  and  Dick  went  the 
way  of  most  all  "  good  dogs  ' ' — with  our  servant-girl's  butcher- 
beau —  at  whose  house  I  saw  him,  shortly  after  Babette's  mar- 
riage, together  with  sundry  lace-collars,  table-cloths,  and  nap- 
kin-rings that  had  mysteriously  left  the  house  about  the  same 
time  with  her.  Chicky  disappeared  the  night  before  Thanks- 
giving day :  perhaps  they  could  n't  get  any  turkey  to  give 
thanks  for,  and  contented  themselves  with  a  chicken. 

When  the  captain  next  came  home,  he  found  nothing  but  a 
squirrel  — but  this  squirrel  was  the  greatest  pet  I  had  yet  found. 
I  came  by  it  in  this  way :  two  small,  ragged  boys  pulled  the 
bell  one  day,  and,  seeing  a  little  wooden  cage  in  their  hands, 
I  went  to  the  door  immediately  myself.  How  the  little  wretches 
knew  of  my  silly  propensity  for  collecting  all  vagabond,  half- 
starved  animals,  I  don't  know ;  but  they  showed  me  a  scraggy 
little  squirrel  in  the  cage,  and  said,  with  the  utmost  confidence, 
they  wanted  to  sell  it  to  me. 

"  How  much  do  you  want  for  it?  "  I  asked. 

"Two  dollars,"  said  the  oldest,  at  a  venture,  and  then 
opened  his  eyes  in  astonishment,  as  much  at  his  own  audacity 
as  at  my  silence  —  which  seemed  to  imply  assent  to  his  ex- 
tortion. 

You  see,  I  had  opened  the  cage,  and  bunny  had  slipped 
out,  scrambled  up  on  my  arm,  and  lodged  himself  close  around 
my  neck,  where  he  lay  with  his  little  head  tucked  under  my 
chin.  How  could  I  let  the  little  thing  go  ?  So  I  gave  the 
boy  his  two  dollars,  for  which  he  generously  offered  to  leave 


SOMETHING  ABOUT  MY  PETS.  \2J 

the  cage,  which  offer  I  declined,  intending  to  make  a  house- 
dog of  bunny.  The  sagacity,  gentleness,  and  playfulness  of 
little  Fritz  are  beyond  all  description ;  though  his  bump  of 
destructiveness,  I  must  acknowledge,  was  also  very  largely 
developed.  He  was  still  young,  and  I  could  keep  him  on  a 
window-sill  quite  safely,  till  I  felt  sure  of  his  attachment  to 
me,  and  his  disinclination  to  make  his  escape.  The  window- 
sill  and  the  open  window  remained  his  favorite  post  to  the 
end  of  his  life ;  though  when  he  grew  older,  he  would  occasion- 
ally jump  from  my  bed-room  window,  in  the  second  story,  to 
the  grass  and  flower-beds  below.  He  had  not  been  in  the 
house  more  than  a  week  before  he  followed  me  about  like  a 
dog,  and  took  his  place  close  by  me  at  the  table,  eating  and 
drinking  anything  I  had  a  mind  to  offer  him.  He  drank  coffee 
out  of  a  cup,  and  ate  the  meat  I  gave  him  —  holding  it  in  his 
paws,  as  little  children  hold  a  strip  of  meat  in  their  hands  — 
nibbling  and  sucking  it,  with  great  gusto. 

I  cannot  conceal  that  the  wood  work,  the  furniture,  and  all 
the  books,  throughout  the  house,  soon  displayed  ragged  edges 
and  torn  surfaces ;  and  mother  (who  had  taken  up  her  abode 
with  us),  who  punished  Fritz  for  his  depredations  sometimes, 
was  held  in  high  disfavor  by  him,  in  consequence.  When  I 
was  not  at  home,  he  would  hardly  allow  her  to  touch  him,  and 
would  hide  under  the  pillows  on  my  bed,  at  her  approach, 
barking  and  scolding  with  great  vehemence.  To  me  he  never 
said  an  "unkind  word;"  on  the  contrary,  I  could  hardly 
secure  myself  from  his  caresses.  Sometimes  I  would  place 
him  on  the  top  of  a  tall  cupboard,  or  high  wardrobe,  to  get 
him  away  from  under  my  feet ;  but  the  moment  I  passed  any- 
where within  reaching-distance,  he  would  fly  down  on  me, 
and,  settling  on  my  hand,  face,  or  shoulder,  would  fall  to  lick- 
ing my  face,  and  nibbling  at  my  ears  and  nose,  to  assure  me 
of  his  favor.  I  fear  I  have  slapped  him  more  than  once  for 
marking  my  face  with  his  little  sharp  claws,  when  making  one 


128  OVERLAND    TALES. 

of  these  sudden  descents.  At  night,  he  slept  under  my  pillow ; 
and  early  in  the  morning  he  would  creep  out,  nibble  at  my 
eyelids,  and  switch  me  with  his  bushy  tail.  Without  opening 
my  eyes,  I  would  reach  out  for  a  handful  of  nuts  —  opened 
and  placed  within  reach  the  night  before  —  and  with  these  he 
would  amuse  himself  for  a  long  while,  always  cleaning  his  face 
and  paws  after  disposing  of  his  first  breakfast.  With  sundown 
he  went  to  sleep ;  but,  of  warm  nights,  when  I  went  to  bed 
late,  I  would  carry  his  little  drinking-cup  to  him,  filled  with 
ice-water.  Half  asleep,  sometimes  with  his  eyes  closed,  he 
would  take  a  long  drink ;  but  never  once,  of  all  those  nights, 
did  he  return  to  his  pillow  without  first  gratefully  passing  his 
little  tongue  over  the  hand  that  held  him.  That  he  knew  it 
was  my  hand,  I  am  quite  certain ;  for  if  the  captain  ever 
attempted  to  touch  him,  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  when 
Fritz  was  ever  so  sound  asleep,  he  would  immediately  start  up 
with  a  snarl,  and  snap  at  the  captain's  fingers ;  whereas,  if  I 
thrust  my  hand  under  the  pillow,  in  the  dead  of  night,  he 
would  lick  it,  and  rub  his  nose  against  it. 

With  nothing  but  a  little  basket  to  carry  him  in,  I  took  him 
with  me  for  a  journey,  on  a  Mississippi  steamer.  I  left  him 
in  the  basket,  while  looking  after  my  baggage  ;  but  when  I 
returned  to  my  state-room,  he  suddenly  jumped  on  my  head 
from  above,  having  eaten  his  way  out,  through  the  lid  of  the 
basket,  and  climbed  to  the  top-berth.  The  stewardess  on  the 
steamer  tried  to  steal  him,  when  near  port,  but  Fritz  had  made 
such  good  use  of  his  sharp  claws  and  teeth  that  she  was  fain  to 
own  :  "  She  had  on'y  wanted  to  tech  the  lilly  bunny  —  hadn't 
wanted  to  hurt 'm,  'tall." 

It  makes  me  sad,  even  now,  to  think  of  the  closing  scene 
of  Fritz's  short,  but,  let  me  hope,  happy  life.  Once  a 
lady,  the  mother  of  a  terrible  little  boy,  had  come  to  spend  the 
day  with  us ;  and  I  soon  discovered  that  either  Fritz  or  the 
little  boy  must  be  caged  "  up  and  away."  So,  pretending  to 


SOME  THING  ABOUT  MYPE  TS.  1 29 

be  afraid  that  the  boy  might  get  hurt,  but  in  reality  fearing 
only  for  Fritz's  welfare,  I  carried  the  squirrel  up  into  the 
lumber-room,  where  I  brought  to  him  nuts  without  number, 
apples,  sugar,  crackers,  and  water  to  bathe  in  and  drink 
from.  There  was  a  pane  broken  out  of  the  window-sash,  but 
this  I  covered  with  a  piece  of  paste-board,  and  then  went 
down  to  entertain  the  lady  and  her  detestable  little  boy. 
Seated  at  the  window,  not  long  after,  I  saw  an  urchin  come 
running  around  the  next  corner,  and,  when  barely  within 
speaking  distance,  he  shouted  at  the  top  of  his  voice  :  "  Say, 
Missis,  they 's  got  him,  'round  here  in  the  cooper-yard,  and 
he  's  dead  —  the  squirrel !  "  he  added,  in  explanation. 

Though  by  no  means  in  a  toilet  representing  a  "street- 
dress" —  in  fact,  with  only  one  slipper  on  —  I  started  off  on  a 
run,  and  never  stopped  till  my  youthful  mentor  pointed  to  a 
circle  of  men  and  boys,  gathered  around  an  object  lying  on  the 
ground.  It  was  Fritz,  writhing  in  the  last  agonies  of  death, 
while  the  boys  were  calling  each  other's  attention  to  the  con- 
tortions of  the  poor  little  body.  In  a  moment,  I  was  among 
them,  had  lifted  Fritz  in  my  arms,  and  held  him  to  my  face. 

"Who  did  that?"  I  asked,  with  pain  and  anger  struggling 
in  my  heart;  "which  of  you  little  brutes  killed  the  poor, 
harmless  thing?" 

The  little  ragamuffin  who  had  led  me  to  the  spot,  pointed  to 
two  boys  making  ineffectual  attempts  to  hide  a  long  stick, 
they  were  carrying,  behind  them. 

"  They  was  a-hitting  'm  like  fury,  and  then  I  runned  to  tell 
you;  please,  Missis,  gimme  a  dime." 

Poor  little  Fritz  !  He  knew  me,  even  in  the  death-strug- 
gle ;  for  he  passed  his  tongue  over  my  hand  once  more,  just 
before  the  last  convulsive  shudder  ran  through  his  body,  and 
his  little  limbs  grew  stiff  and  cold.  I  don't  feel,  in  the  least, 
ashamed  to  own  that  I  cried  —  cried  many  tears  —  cried  bit- 
terly; and  I  felt  dreadfully  lonesome  when  I  woke  up  at 
I 


130  OVERLAND    TALES. 

night,  and,  from  the  sheer  force  of  habit,  put  my  hand  under 
my  pillow  without  finding  Fritz  there.  I  made  a  vow  then 
never  to  have  any  more  pets ;  but  it  was  a  rash  one. 

Some  years  later,  when  the  war  was  over,  the  "  theatre  of 
our  life  "  was  to  be  shifted  from  the  crowded,  populous  city 
to  the  lonely  wilds  of  the  frontier  country.  When  we  reached 
Fort  Leavenworth,  the  quarters  in  the  barracks  were  all  occu- 
pied, and  a  number  of  our  officers  were  assigned  quarters  in 
the  Attache  Barracks.  The  captain  had  decided  to  purchase 
a  horse  from  the  government  stables,  and  turn  him  over  to  me 
for  saddle-use,  as  I  did  not  want  to  go  to  our  frontier-post 
without  a  horse  of  my  own  to  depend  on.  It  was  in  June ;  and 
the  little  square  yards  in  front  of  the  Attach^  Barracks  were 
fresh  and  sweet  with  grass  and  blossoming  red  clover.  The 
door  of  our  quarters  stood  open ;  the  captain  had  gone  out, 
and  I  was  startled  by  a  knock  on  the  door-post.  Looking 
up,  I  saw  the  head  of  an  orderly  appearing  at  the  door ;  but, 
poking  over  his  head,  I  saw  that  of  a  horse  evidently  taking 
a-strict  inventory  of  everything  in  the  room.  Of  course,  I 
was  at  the  door,  and  on  the  horse's  neck,  in  the  course  of  a 
very  few  seconds,  for,  from  the  orderly,  I  soon  understood 
that  the  captain  had  sent  the  horse  for  me  to  look  at.  Colo- 
nel L ,  with  his  two  little  girls,  came  up  just  then,  and,  as 

we  were  all  going  in  the  same  command,  the  acquisition  of  a 
horse  for  the  march  had  an  interest  for  all  parties.  Together, 
we  surrounded  and  admired  the  beautiful  white  animal ;  and 
the  two  little  girls  and  myself  were  soon  braiding  clover-blos- 
soms into  Toby's  tail,  and  trimming  his  head  and  neck  with 
garlands  of  butter-cups  —  operations  which  did  not,  in  the 
least,  interfere  with  his  good  humor,  or  his  appetite  for  the 
juicy  grass  he  was  cropping.  The  captain,  it  seems,  had 
already  tried  his  speed  and  mettle ;  he  was  not  appraised  at 
at  any  unreasonable  figure,  and  so  Toby  was  mine  before  we 
took  up  the  line  of  march  for  the  Plains. 


SOMETHING  ABOUT  MY  PETS.  13! 

From  the  wagon-master  I  heard,  later,  that  Toby  had  been 
captured  in  Texas,  during  the  war.  He  had  been  raised  and 
trained  by  a  woman  who  had  followed  him  around  the  coun- 
try for  some  time,  trying  to  get  her  pet  back  again ;  but  Uncle 
Sam,  no  doubt,  had  the  best  right  to  him,  and  he  was  placed 
in  the  stables  of  the  Fitting-out  Depot.  One  thing  certainly 
spoke  for  the  truth  of  the  story :  whenever  Toby  had  been  let 
loose  and  refused  to  be  tied  up  again,  he  would  always  allow 
me  to  come  up  to  him,  when  he  would  turn  and  throw  up  his 
heels  at  the  approach  of  a  man. 

Toby  was  soon  a  universal  favorite  and  proved  himself 
worthy  of  the  preference,  though  he  had  one  or  two  tricks 
about  him  that  were  by  no  means  commendable.  First :  he 
was  an  inveterate  thief;  and  then  —  at  times  when  he  was  not 
ridden,  but  led  along  by  the  orderly — he  had  a  mean  way  of 
lying  back  and  letting  the  other  horse  pull  him  along,  that 
fairly  exasperated  me.  His  thefts,  however,  were  always  car- 
ried out  in  such  a  cunning  manner  that  I  readily  forgave  the 
sin  for  the  sake  of  the  skill.  We  had  not  been  long  on  the 
march  when  Toby  perpetrated  his  first  robbery.  The  captain 
rode  him,  and  when  the  command  halted  for  lunch,  he  would 
come  up  to  our  ambulance,  dismount,  and  let  Toby  go  per- 
fectly free  —  for  we  had  soon  found  that  he  would  not  stray 
from  the  command.  Toby  learned  to  know  the  contents  and 
appliances  of  lunch-baskets  very  soon,  particularly  as  he  re- 
ceived his  portion  from  ours  regularly  every  day.  One  day, 
after  having  dispatched  his  bread-and-butter  and  lump  of 
sugar  in  the  neighborhood  of  our  ambulance,  he  walked  over 

to  Colonel  L 's,  and  while  Mrs.  L was  leaning  out  on 

the  other  side,  speaking  to  the  colonel,  Toby  quietly  lifted  the 
lunch-basket  from  her  lap,  deposited  it  on  the  grass,  over- 
turned it,  and  helped  himself  to  the  contents.  Unfortunately 
for  Toby,  Mrs.  L had  spread  mustard  on  her  ham-sand- 
wiches, and  the  sneezing  and  coughing  of  the  erring  horse 


132  OVERLAND    TALES. 

first  called  her  attention  to  his  presence,  and  the  absence  of 
her  lunch-basket. 

Not  long  after,  we  made  camp  very  early  in  the  day,  and  the 
major's  folks  came  to  fill  a  long-standing  promise  to  take  tea 
with  us,  and  spend  the  evening  at  our  tent.  The  visit  passed 
off  very  pleasantly,  and  an  engagement  was  made  to  return  it 
at  an  early  day.  Toby,  who  was  prowling  about  the  tent,  no 
doubt  overheard  the  conversation,  and  felt  it  incumbent  on 
him  to  fill  the  engagement  as  soon  as  possible.  Consequently, 
he  stationed  himself  near  the  major's  tent-fly  the  very  next 
morning,  and  paid  close  attention  to  the  preparations  going  on 
for  tea;  and  just  as  the  cook  had  put  the  finishing-touch  to 
the  table,  and  had  stepped  back  to  call  the  family  and  set 
the  tea  and  the  meats  on  the  table,  Toby  gravely  walked  up, 
swallowed  the  butter  with  one  gulp,  upset  the  sugar-bowl,  gob- 
bled up  the  contents,  and  proceeded  leisurely  to  investigate 
the  inside  of  a  tin  jelly-can.  The  soldiers,  who  had  watched 
his  manoeuvres  from  a  distance,  had  been  too  much  charmed 
with  the  performance  to  give  warning  to  the  cook;  but  when 
he  made  his  appearance,  meat-dish  and  tea-pot  in  hand,  they 
gave  such  a  shout  as  set  the  whole  camp  in  an  uproar,  and 
Toby  was  fairly  worshipped  by  the  soldiers  from  that  day 
out. 

But  the  faithfulness  and  patience  of  the  horse,  in  time  of 
need,  made  me  forgive  him  all  these  tricks.  Months  later — 
when  still  on  the  march,  in  the  most  desolate  wilderness,  in 
the  midst  of  the  pathless  mountains,  when  other  horses  "gave 
up  the  ghost,"  and  were  shot  at  the  rate  of  a  dozen  a  day  — 
Toby  held  out,  carrying  me  on  his  back,  day  after  day,  night 
after  night,  till  his  knees  trembled  with  fatigue  and  faintness, 
and  he  turned  his  head  and  took  my  foot  between  his  teeth, 
at  last,  to  tell  me  he  could  carry  me  no  farther !  Not  once, 
but  a  dozen  times,  has  he  repeated  this  manoeuvre  ;  once,  too, 
when  we  were  coming  down  a  very  steep  hill,  he  planted  his 


SOMETHING  ABOUT  MY  PETS.  133 

forefeet  down  firmly,  turned  his  head,  and  softly  bit  the  foot 
I  held  in  the  stirrup,  to  tell  me  that  I  must  dismount. 

The  most  singular  devotion  of  one  horse  to  another,  I  wit- 
nessed while  out  in  New  Mexico.  The  captain  found  it 
necessary  to  draw  a  saddle-horse  for  his  own  use,  and  selected 
one  from  a  number  which  the  volunteers  had  left  behind.  It 
had  been  half-starved  latterly,  and  was  vicious,  more  from  ill- 
treatment  than  by  nature.  The  first  evening  when  it  was 
.brought  to  our  stable,  it  kicked  the  orderly  so  that  he  could 
not  attend  to  the  horses  next  morning,  and  the  cook  had  to 
look  after  them.  I  went  into  the  stable  to  bring  Toby  a  tit- 
bit of  some  kind,  and  here  found  that  Copp  (the  new  horse) 
was  deliberately  eating  the  feed  out  of  Toby's  trough.  The 
cook  called  my  attention  to  it,  and  explained  that  the  horse 
had  done  the  same. thing  last  night;  and  on  interfering,  the 
orderly  had  been  viciously  kicked  by  the  animal.  I  reached 
over  to  stroke  the  creature's  mane,  but  the  cook  called  to  me 
to  stop,  holding  up  his  arm  to  show  where  the  horse  had 
bitten  him.  I  went  quickly  back  into  the  tent,  got  a  large 
piece  of  bread,  and  held  it  out  to  Copp.  In  an  instant  he 
had  swallowed  it,  and  had  fallen  back  on  Toby's  feed  again, 
without  meeting  with  the  least  opposition  from  that  side. 
Toby  evidently  had  better  sense,  and  more  charity,  than  the 
men  had  shown  ;  he  knew  that  the  horse  was  half-starved,  and 
wicked  only  from  hunger. 

If  I  had  never  believed  before  that  horses  were  capable  of 
reasoning,  and  remembering  kind  actions,  Copp's  behavior 
toward  Toby  would  have  converted  me.  Often,  when  out  on 
timber-cutting  or  road-making  excursions,  I  accompanied  the 
captain,  and,  mounted  on  Toby,  would  hold  Copp  by  the 
bridle  or  picket-rope,  so  as  to  allow  the  orderly  to  participate 
in  the  pleasures  of  the  day.  The  grass  was  rich  up  in  the 
mountains,  and  Toby  would  give  many  a  tug  at  the  bridle  to 
get  his  head  down  where  he  could  crop  it;  this,  however, 
12 


134  OVERLAND    TALES. 

had  been  forbidden  by  the  captain,  once  for  all,  and  Toby 
was  compelled  to  hold  his  head  up  in  the  proper  position. 
Copp,  however,  was  allowed  to  crop  the  grass ;  but  he  never 
ate  a  mouthful,  of  which  he  did  not  first  give  Toby  half! 
Sometimes  he  would  go  off  as  far  as  the  bridle  would  reach, 
gather  up  a  large  bunch  in  his  mouth,  and  then  step  back  to 
Toby  and  let  him  pull  his  share  of  it  out  from  between  his 
teeth.  But  no  other  horse  dare  approach  Toby  in  Copp's 
sight.  I  have  seen  him  jump  quite  across  the  road  for  the 
purpose  of  biting  a  horse  that  was  rubbing  his  nose  against 
Toby's  mane  in  a  friendly  manner.  One  day  we  met  a  party 
of  disappointed  gold-hunters,  who  were  anxious  to  dispose  of 
a  little,  light  wagon  they  had.  The  captain  bought  it,  think- 
ing to  break  Toby  and  Copp  to  harness.  Toby  took  to  his 
new  occupation  kindly  enough,  but  Copp  could  only  be  made 
to  move  in  his  track  when  I  stood  at  a  distance  and  called  to 
him.  He  would  work  his  way  up  to  me  with  a  wild,  fright- 
ened air;  but  the  moment  I  was  out  of  his  sight,  neither 
beating  nor  coaxing  could  induce  him  to  move  a  step. 

But  —  dear  me  —  those  horses  have  taken  up  my  thoughts 
so  completely,  that  I  have  almost  exhausted  this  paper  with- 
out speaking  of  the  other  pets  I  have  had.  The  horned  toad 
could  never  make  its  way  into  my  good  graces ;  nor  the  land- 
turtle,  neither,  after  it  had  once  "shut  down"  on  my  dog 
Tom's  tail.  They  were  both  abolished  by  simply  leaving 
them  on  the  road.  The  prairie-dog  refused  to  be  tamed,  but 
ran  away,  the  ungrateful  wretch,  with  collar,  chain,  and  all ; 
a  living  wonder,  no  doubt,  to  his  brethren  in  the  prairie-dog 
village,  through  which  we  were  passing  at  the  time. 

But  my  mink,  Max,  was  a  dear  little  pet.  He  was  given 
me  by  a  soldier  at  Fort  Union,  and  had  been  captured  on  the 
Pecos  River,  near  Fort  Sumner.  He  was  of  a  solid,  dark- 
brown  color,  and  the  texture  of  his  coat  made  it  clear  at  once 
why  a  set  of  mink-furs  is  so  highly  prized  by  the  ladies.  His 


SOMETHING  ABOUT  MY  PETS.  135 

face  was  anything  but  intelligent ;  yet  he  was  as  frisky  and 
active  as  any  young  mink  need  be.  It  was  while  we  were 
still  on  the  march,  that  Max  took  his  place  in  the  ambulance 
by  me  as  regularly  as  day  came.  When  we  made  camp  in 
the  afternoon,  he  was  allowed  to  run  free,  and  when  it  grew 
dark,  I  would  step  to  the  tent-door,  call  "  Max  !  Max  !  "  and 
immediately  he  would  come  dashing  up,  uttering  sounds  half- 
chuckle,  half- bark,  as  if  he  were  saying:  "Well,  well  —  ain't 
I  coming  as  fast  as  I  can  ?  " 

On  long  days'  marches  he  would  lie  so  still  in  the  ambu- 
lance, that  I  often  put  out  my  hand  to  feel  whether  he  was 
beside  me ;  and  wherever  I  happened  to  thrust  my  fingers,  his 
mouth  would  be  wide  open  to  receive  them,  and  a  sharp  bite 
would  instantly  apprise  me  of  his  whereabouts.  He  had  his 
faults,  too  —  serious  faults  —  and  one  of  them,  I  fear,  led  to 
his  destruction.  Travelling  over  the  plains  of  New  Mexico, 
in  the  middle  of  summer,  is  no  joking  matter,  for  man  or 
mink,  and  a  supply  of  fresh,  cool  water,  after  a  hot  day's 
march,  is  not  only  desirable,  but  necessary.  But  it  is  not 
always  an  easy  matter  to  get  water ;  and  I  have  known  the 
men  to  go  two  or  three  miles  for  a  bucketful.  Getting  back 
to  camp  weary  and  exhausted,  they  would  naturally  put  the 
bucket  in  the  only  available  place  —  on  the  ground;  and  the 
next  moment,  Max,  who  was  always  on  hand  for  his  share  of 
it,  would  suddenly  plunge  in  and  swim  "  'round  and  'round" 
in  pursuit  of  his  tail  —  choosing  to  take  his  drink  of  water  in 
this  manner,  to  the  great  disgust  of  the  tired  men. 

Company  "  B"  was  still  with  us  at  this  time,  and  the  tent 
of  the  company  commander  was  pitched  not  far  from  ours. 
Sergeant  Brown,  of  this  company,  was  in  possession  of  a  dozen 
or  two  of  chickens ;  and  these,  I  suspect,  were  the  cause  of 
the  mink's  death.  Like  all  animals  out  in  the  wilderness, 
the  chickens  could  be  allowed  to  run  free,  without  ever  stray- 
ing away  from  their  owner :  there  was  thought  to  be  no 


136  OVERLAND    TALES. 

danger  lurking  near  for  them ;  but  suddenly  one  or  two  were 
found  with  their  throats  torn  open,  and  the  blood  sucked  from 
their  lifeless  bodies.  Max  was  accused,  with  the  greater  show 
of  truth,  as  the  cook  of  the  lieutenant  had  caught  him  the 
next  day  rolling  away  an  egg,  which  he  had  purloined  from 
the  lieutenant's  stock  of  provisions.  The  cook,  following 
Max,  discovered  that  he  had  already  three  eggs  hidden  in  the 
neighborhood  of  our  tent.  I  grew  alarmed  for  the  safety  of 
my  pet',  though  I  knew  that  the  men  of  our  company  would 
not  have  harmed  a  hair  of  his  brown,  bear-like  head. 

One  night  I  stepped  to  the  tent-door  to  call  Max;  but  no 
Max  answered.  The  orderly  was  sent  to  look  through  the 
tents,  as  Max  sometimes  stopped  with  the  men  who  showed 
any  disposition  to  play  with  him  —  but  he  could  not  be  found. 
I  spent  an  uneasy  night,  calling  "  Max  !  Max  !  "  whenever  I 
heard  the  least  noise  outside  the  tent.  Next  morning  I  got 
up  betimes,  and  as  soon  as  I  had  swallowed  my  breakfast, 
went  down  toward  the  Rio  Grande.  The  ground  grew  broken 
and  rocky  near  the  banks  of  the  river,  and  I  half  thought  he 
might  have  returned  to  his  native  element.  I  climbed  to  a 
point  where  I  could  see  the  river,  and  called  "  Max  !  Max  !  " 
but  heard  nothing  in  answer,  save  the  rolling  of  a  little  stone 
I  had  loosened  with  my  foot.  "  Max  !  Max  !  "  I  called  again; 
but  the  dull  roar  of  the  water,  where  it  surged  lazily  against 
the  few  exceptional  rocks  on  the  bank,  was  all  I  could  hear. 
Going  back  to  camp,  I  found  the  tents  struck,  the  command 
moving,  and  the  ambulance  waiting  for  me.  Wiping  the 
tears  from  my  face,  I  climbed  in  —  shaking  the  blankets  for 
the  fiftieth  time  to  see  if  Max  had  not  mischievously  hidden 
among  them. 

From  a  conversation  I  overheard  long  afterward,  I  concluded 
that  Max  had  fallen  a  victim  to  Sergeant  Brown's  revengeful 
spirit  —  in  fact,  had  been  slaughtered  in  atonement  for  those 
assassinated  chickens. 


POKER-JIM. 

'T^WO  motherless  girls,  and  only  a  brother  a  few  years  older 
left  to  protect  them. 

When  the  father  died,  the  mother  had  turned  the  old 
homestead  —  for  there  are  houses  in  San  Francisco  fifteen 
and  twenty  years  old  —  into  a  source  of  revenue  from  which 
she  provided  for  the  children.  The  father  had  left  nothing 
save  debts — gambling  debts — and  the  fraternity  had  not  called 
on  the  widow  to  settle  these.  For  her  own  existence  she 
seemed  to  need  nothing  —  absolutely  nothing  —  but  the  ca- 
resses of  her  children,  and  the  happiness  and  contentment 
mirrored  in  their  eyes.  When  she  died  the  girls  were  old 
enough,  and  competent,  to  look  after  the  house,  which  the 
mother  had  made  a  pleasant  home  to  many  a  "roomer"  who 
had  come  a  stranger  to  the  city,  had  been  badgered  and 
harassed  by  flint-eyed,  stony-hearted  landladies,  and  had  at 
last,  by  some  good  fortune,  found  his  way  into  the  precincts 
of  the  widow's  cozy,  quiet  walls.  The  son  had,  through  the 
influence  of  some  of  the  roomers,  obtained  a  position  in  a 
wholesale  liquor  establishment,  where  the  salary  was  high,  and 
—  the  temptation  great. 

That  the  two  young  girls  should  carry  on  the  house  just  as 
their  dying  mother  had  left  it  to  them,  was  something  no  one 
in  San  Francisco  would  think  of  commenting  upon.  And  as 
the  proverbial  chivalry  of  the  Californian  would  prompt  him 
to  suffer  inconvenience  and  loss  rather  than  to  deprive  women 
in  any  way  thrown  on  his  care  or  his  protection,  they  missed 
only  their  mother's  love  and  presence  in  the  home,  which 
12*  137 


138  OVERLAND    TALES. 

remained  home  to  them  still.  After  a  while  the  painful  truth 
dawned  on  them  that  their  brother  was  being  weaned  away 
from  it.  His  evenings  were  now  but  seldom  spent  with  them 
in  the  little  sitting-room  whose  ivy-mantled  bay-window 
looked  out  on  the  garden,  where  the  flower-beds  had  moved 
closer  up  to  the  house  as  the  lots  became  more  valuable,  and  the 
orchard  had  been  cut  down  to  a  few  trees  on  the  grass-plot. 

At  first  the  excuse  was,  that  customers  from  the  country, 
buying  heavily  of  the  firm,  had  a  right  to  expect  attentions 
not  strictly  of  a  business  nature  from  him,  its  chief  represen- 
tative. Then  his  absence  from  home  grew  more  protracted, 
and  often  midnight  tolled  from  St.  Mary's  before  his  unsteady 
feet  mounted  the  door-steps.  One  night,  a  lady,  attracted  to 
the  balcony  by  an  unusually  brilliant  moon,  when  she  awoke 
from  her  midnight  slumbers,  wonderingly  saw  a  carriage  drive 
up  to  the  house  where  the  two  sisters  lay  in  peaceful  sleep. 
She  was  too  far  off  to  see  whether  there  was  a  number  on  the 
carriage,  or  what  the  number  was.  Neither  could  she  distin- 
guish the  face  of  the  driver,  nor  that  of  the  gentleman  who 
assisted  another,  whom  she  rightly  judged  to  be  Edward  Ash- 
burne,  from  the  carriage  into  the  house.  That  the  face  of  the 
one  who  supported,  or  rather  carried,  young  Edward,  was 
deadly  white,  framed  in  by  a  heavy  black  beard,  was  all  she 
could  tell.  "  Poor  girls  !  "  she  soliloquized  ;  "  better  that  the 
boy  was  dead  than  turn  drunkard,  and  gamble,  like  his  father. ' ' 

The  carriage  drove  off  rapidly  after  the  gentleman  —  who, 
as  she  thought,  had  helped  Ned  to  the  door  and  rang  the  bell 
—  had  re-entered  it ;  and  carriage-driver  and  ghostly-faced 
gentleman  could  never  be  found  or  heard  of  afterward. 

What  the  neighbor-lady  heard  still  further  that  same  night 
was,  first,  the  furious  barking,  then  the  doleful  howling  of  the 
young  Newfoundland  dog,  which  the  Misses  Ashburne  had 
recently  "adopted,"  and,  soon  after,  a  wild,  heart-rending 
cry. 


POKER-JIM.  139 

"  The  horrid  boy  !  "  she  continued,  full  of  sympathy ;  "  is 
he  so  beastly  drunk  ?  Could  he  have  struck  one  of  his 
sisters?" 

Aye,  good  woman ;  struck  them  both  a  terrible  blow,  but 
not  with  his  hand,  for  that  lay  powerless  by  his  side.  And 
the  eyes  were  sightless  that  stared  vacantly  into  their  own,  as 
they  bent  over  him  where  he  lay  stretched  out  on  the  hall- 
floor  —  his  coat  folded  under  his  head,  his  latch-key  close  at 
hand.  Only  a  painful  gasp  answered  their  pitiful  entreaties 
to  "  speak  once  more  ;  "  and  before  the  sympathizing  inmates 
of  the  stricken  house  could  remove  him  to  his  bed,  he  had 
breathed  his  last. 

"  Beaten  to  a  jelly,"  sententiously  remarked  one  of  the  men, 
under  his  breath,  to  another,  as  they  left  the  chamber  to  the 
sisters  and  the  more  intimate  friends  of  the  family. 

"Some  woman  scrape  —  you  can  bet  on  that,"  was  the 
response.  And  they  joined  the  others  in  their  efforts  to  dis- 
cover the  perpetrators  of  the  dastard  deed. 

But  no  clue  was  found,  and  after  a  while  San  Francisco 
forgot  the  sisters  and  their  sorrow ;  and  one  day,  when  the 
neighbor-lady  told  her  ever-fresh  story  to  a  new-made  ac- 
quaintance, she  added  :  "  And  now  they  have  gone,  the  poor 
girls,  and  nobody  knows  where." 

From  the  balcony  of  the  two-story  frame  hotel -build  ing  a 
young  girl  was  watching  the  sunlight  sinking  behind  the 
dimly-outlined  range  of  the  Coast  Mountains.  Perhaps  her 
eyes  roved  so  far  away  because  the  immediate  surrounding  of 
the  hotel  was  not  attractive  ;  though  the  streets  devoted  to 
private  residences  of  this  little  city  —  to  which  the  railroad 
was  fast  making  its  way — were  pleasing  to  the  eye,  and  rather 
Southern  in  their  features.  The  orange,  ripening  in  one 
cluster  with  the  fragrant  blossom,  as  well  as  the  tall-growing 
oleander,  embowering  cottage  alike  with  mansion,  spoke  of 


I4O  OVERLAND    TALES. 

oppressive  weather  in  the  summer,  and  promised  glorious, 
balmy  days  during  the  short  California  winter. 

Had  the  girl,  at  whose  feet  a  large  Newfoundland  dog  lay 
sleeping,  stepped  to  the  end  of  the  balcony  which  ran  along 
the  whole  length  of  the  house,  she  could  have  followed  the 
course  of  the  Feather  River,  which  but  a  short  distance  away 
mingled  its  clear  waters  with  the  muddy  waves  of  the  Yuba. 
But  she  was  evidently  not  engaged  in  a  study  of  the  "  lay  of 
the  land,"  though  her  eyes  seemed  to  follow  with  some  interest 
the  direction  of  a  particular  road  leading  to  the  hotel.  Di- 
rectly she  spoke  to  the  dog,  touching  him  lightly  with  her 
toe:  "  Cruiser,  old  dog,  come,  wake  up,  they  are  coming." 

From  out  of  the  cloud  of  dust  rolling  up  to  the  hotel  emerged 
hacks  and  stages  well  filled  with  passengers,  whom  the  railroad 
had  brought  from  San  Francisco  to  Yuba  City,  and  who  thus 
continued  to  this  place  and  onward.  Partly  sheltered  from 
sight  by  the  boughs  of  a  tree  shading  the  balcony,  the  young 
girl  leaned  forward  to  scan  the  faces  of  the  people  who  left 
hacks  and  coaches  and  hastened  into  the  house  to  brush  and 
wash  off  a  little  of  the  biting,  yellowish  dust  clinging  to  them. 
It  seemed  to  be  a  sort  of  pastime  with  the  girl  and  her  four- 
footed  companion,  this  "seeing  the  people  get  in;"  for  she 
made  remarks  and  observations  on  the  looks  and  manners  of 
people  which  the  dog  seemed  fully  to  understand,  for  he  would 
reply,  sometimes  with  a  wag  of  his  bushy  tail,  sometimes  with 
a  short,  sharp  bark,  and  then  again  with  a  long  yawn  of 
ennui.  Almost  the  last  passenger  who  alighted  was  a  gentle- 
man whose  large  black  eyes  and  raven  hair  would  have  thrilled 
the  bosom  of  any  miss  of  sixteen — as,  indeed,  they  startled  our 
young  friend,  although  she  might  have  been  two  or  three  years 
above  and  beyond  that  interesting  age.  The  bough  that  she 
had  drawn  down  to  screen  herself  behind,  sprang  up  with  a 
sudden  snap,  which  caused  the  upturning  of  a  pale  and  rather 
severe  face,  from  which  looked  those  black  eyes  with  a  grave, 


POKER- JIM.  141 

rather  than  sad,  expression.  A  sudden  thought  or  memory 
—  she  did  not  know  which  —  shot  through  her  brain  as  her 
eyes  looked  down  into  his ;  it  was  only  a  flash,  but  it  made 
her  think  of  her  childhood,  of  her  mother  —  she  hardly  knew 
of  what. 

"Cruiser,  old  dog,"  she  said;  but  the  dog  had  squeezed 
his  head  under  the  railing  as  far  as  he  could  get  it,  as  if 
making  a  desperate  attempt  to  get  a  nearer  look  at  the 
stranger.  When  he  drew  his  head  back  he  raised  himself, 
laid  his  forepaws  on  the  railing,  and  looked  hard  into  the 
girl's  face,  with  a  low,  questioning  whine.  "  It 's  nothing, 
old  boy;  you  don't  know  him.  Come,  now,  we'll  see  if  we 
can  help  Julia  about  the  house." 

Down  at  the  bar,  mine  host  of  the  "Eagle  Exchange"  was 
welcoming  his  guests,  nerving  himself  to  this  task  with  fre- 
quent libations,  offered  by  the  fancy  bartender,  and  paid  for 
by  such  of  his  guests  as  had  made  the  "Exchange"  their 
stopping-place  before,  and  knew  of  the  landlord's  weakness. 
Stepping  from  the  bar-room  into  the  reading-room,  to  look 
for  any  stray  guest  who  might  have  failed  to  offer  at  the 
shrine,  he  met  the  dark-eyed  stranger  face  to  face,  and  re- 
coiled, either  from  some  sudden  surprise  or  the  effects  of  deep 
potations,  steadying  himself  against  the  door-frame  as  he 
reeled.  The  stranger,  continuing  on  his  way  to  the  stair- 
case, seemed  hardly  to  notice  him,  involuntarily  turning  his 
head  away  as  if  unwilling  to  view  so  fair-looking  a  specimen 
of  humanity  degrading  himself  to  the  level  of  the  brute. 

Later  at  night  we  find  our  young  friend,  together  with  her 
older  sister,  in  the  family  sitting-room  of  the  hotel.  Annie, 
the  younger,  is  softly  stroking  the  sister's  hair  as  though  she 
were  the  elder,  endeavoring  to  comfort  a  fretting,  troubled 
child.  No  word  was  spoken  until  the  husband-landlord 
entered  the  room.  Julia  gave  a  nervous  start,  while  Annie 
touched  her  gently  and  soothingly  on.  the  shoulder.  Mr. 


142  OVERLAND    TALES. 

Davison  was  a  great  deal  soberer  than  could  be  expected ; 
and  his  wife  gave  a  sigh  of  relief  when  she  found  that  he  was 
only  maudlin  drunk. 

"Ah,  there  you  are,  both  together  again  —  as  affectionate 
a  pair  of  sisters  as  ever  I  see.  Well,  well,  Julia,  girl,  maybe 
I  ain't  made  you  as  good  a  husband  as  you  deserve  to  have, 
but  I'll  see  that  our  little  sister  there  is  well  provided  for. 
By-the-by,  Annie,  when  Tom  Montrie  comes  down  from  the 
mountains  he'll  find  good  sport:  one  of  the  nicest  fellows  you 
ever  saw  has  come  down  from  San  Francisco,  and  I'll  try  to 
get  him  to  spend  at  least  part  of  the  winter  with  us.  Oh,  he  's 
on  the  sport,"  in  answer  to  an  anxious  look  from  Julia,  "but 
he's  a  mighty  clever  fellow  —  genteel,  and  all  that  sort  of 
thing.  Tom's  made  a  pretty  good  stake  again  this  summer, 
I  know  ;  and  it'll  be  a  good  plan  to  keep  him  well  entertained 
while  Annie  is  away  teaching  the  ragged  young  one  —  for  I 
suppose  she  '11  insist  on  keeping  on  in  that  stupid  school, 
when  she  might  just  as  well  marry  Tom  at  once  and  set  her- 
self and  her  poor  relations  up  in  the  world." 

The  girl  had  listened  in  silence  to  this  long  tirade,  a  burn- 
ing spot  on  each  cheek  alone  showing  that  she  heard  at  all 
what  was  said.  It  was  Julia's  turn  to  be  elder  sister  now. 

"Annie,"  she  said,  "I  forgot  to  tell  Peter  that  he  had 
better  use  more  yeast  for  the  muffins  he  sets  to-night;  will 
you  please  to  tell  him  so  as  you  go  up-stairs?  "  Drawing  her 
fingers  through  Annie's  curly  brown  hair,  and  looking  affec- 
tionately into  her  deep  hazel  eyes,  she  kissed  her  good-night; 
and  the  sister  silently  departed,  followed  up-stairs  by  Cruiser, 
who  kept  watch  through  the  night  on  his  rug  outside  her  door. 

To  discover  the  cause  of  Mr.  Davison's  unusual  sobriety  we 
must  go  back  for  an  hour  or  two.  When  night  had  set  in, 
the  stranger  from  San  Francisco,  who  had  registered  his  name 
as  J.  B.  Peyton,  was  promenading  on  the  porch  in  front  of 
the  hotel,  quietly  smoking  his  Havana  and  thoughtfully  re- 


POKER- JIM.  143 

garding  the  stars.  Presently  the  host  opened  the  door  of  the 
reading-room,  stepped  out  on  the  porch,  and  closed  it  behind 
him  again,  as  though  to  keep  the  chilly  autumn  air  from 
striking  the  inmates  of  the  room.  Approaching  the  stranger, 
he  eyed  him  as  keenly  as  his  somewhat  dimmed  vision,  aided 
by  the  sickly  light  of  a  pale  young  moon,  would  permit,  and 
then  exclaimed,  in  a  tone  intended  to  be  cordial : 

"  It 's  you,  by ,  it  is  !  Give  us  your  hand,  and  tell  us 

how  you  are  and  how  the  rest  of  them  have  fared." 

The  stranger,  in  a  voice  which,  like  his  eyes,  was  grave 
rather  than  sad,  replied,  somewhat  stiffly  : 

"  I  am  quite  well,  as  you  see ;  whom  else  you  are  inquiring 
for,  I  don't  know."  Then,  warming  up  suddenly,  he  went 
on,  in  a  tone  of  bitter  reproach  :  "  And  you  have  married 
one  of  these  poor  girls?  You  should  not  have  done  it  had  I 
known  of  it,  depend  on  it." 

"Well,  well,  wasn't  that  the  best  I  could  do  for  them?" 
In  his  tone  bravado  and  reason  were  struggling  for  the  mas- 
tery. "  To  be  sure,"  he  continued,  quailing  before  the  flash- 
ing eye  of  his  companion,  "I  have  not  had  much  luck  of  late; 
everything  seems  going  against  me  —  I  am  almost  ruined." 

"  You  have  ruined  yourself.  Why  should  you  have  luck  ? ' ' 
He  was  silent  a  moment,  busying  himself  with  his  cigar ;  then 
he  continued  :  "  Where  is  Celeste  ?  What  became  of  her  ?  " 

"Curse  the  ungrateful,  perjured  wretch!"  answered  the 
other,  grinding  his  teeth  with  sudden  rage  ;  "  when  my  luck 
first  turned  she  went  off,  mind  you,  with  a  ship-captain,  to 
China.  She  knew  she  could  never  live  where  I  was.  I  'd — " 

"  Do  with  her  as  you  did  with  —  " 

"  Hush  !  "  whispered  the  shivering  host ;  "  don't  speak  so 
loud  !  Wasn't  there  something  stirring  in  the  tree  there?" 
And,  like  Macbeth  seeing  Banquo's  ghost,  he  started  back- 
ward to  the  well-lit  room. 

It  is  generally  accepted  that  life  in  California,  particularly 


144  OVERLAND    TALES. 

in  earlier  days,  was  full  of  excitement  and  change,  every  day 
bringing  with  it  some  horrible  occurrence  or  startling  event. 
Perhaps,  at  the  date  of  my  story — about  1860  —  this  excite- 
ment had  somewhat  cooled  down ;  or  perhaps  it  was  the  life  of 
our  young  friend  only  that  had  flowed  along  so  evenly  while  at 
this  place.  The  "horrible  occurrence"  of  her  day  was  the 
ever-recurring  period  of  her  brother-in-law's  intoxication, 
sometimes  maudlin,  sometimes  violent,  but  always  fraught 
with  bitterness  and  sorrow  to  her  on  account  of  her  gentle, 
long-suffering  sister.  The  "startling  event  "  was  the  coming 
in  of  the  hacks  and  coaches  from  the  railroad  terminus,  which 
she  watched,  half-hidden  by  the  tree,  and  together  with  her 
almost  inseparable  companion,  Cruiser,  just  as  she  had  done 
that  day  when  Mr.  Peyton  made  his  first  appearance  at  this 
place.  Perhaps  her  interest  in  the  arrivals  was  even  greater 
now  than  it  had  been  before.  Often,  when  about  to  turn 
from  her  post  of  observation,  a  pair  of  grave  black  eyes,  up- 
turned from  the  porch  below,  seemed  asking  a  question  of  her 
that  she  vainly  puzzled  her  brain  to  understand.  Once  or 
twice  she  had  started  to  go  to  her  sister's  room  at  such  times, 
trying  to  frame  the  question  she  seemed  to  read  in  the  stran- 
ger's eye.  But  the  question  remained  unframed  and  unan- 
swered ;  and  day  after  day  Annie  taught  her  little  pupils  at 
school,  came  home  and  helped  Julia  about  the  house,  and  in 
the  evening  encountered  the  sphinx  that  baffled  all  her  dreamy 
speculations. 

It  had  been  a  matter  of  displeasure  to  her  brother-in-law  for 
some  time  that  the  arrival  of  the  stage  from  Laporte  was  not 
noticed  by  Annie  with  the  same  degree  of  interest  as  the  com- 
ing-in of  the  passengers  from  the  opposite  direction. 

"Tom '11  be  coming  some  day,"  he  said,  grumblingly,  to 
his  wife,  "  and  that  fine  sister  of  yours  will  take  no  more  notice 
of  his  arrival  than  if  a  Chinaman  had  come  !  " 

And  so  it  proved.     One  morning  as  Annie,  followed  by 


POKER-JIM.  145 

Cruiser  with  the  lunch-basket,  was  descending  the  front  steps 
of  the  hotel  porch,  Mr.  Davison  hastened  to  block  up  her  road 
with  his  portly  figure. 

"Annie,"  he  spoke  majestically,  "how 'often  must  I  tell 
you  that  I  cannot  allow  my  sister-in-law  to  plod  over  to  that 
school-house  and  bother  with  those  dirty  urchins  any  more  ? 
Let  them  find  some  one  else,  for  you  will  not  teach  there  much 
longer.  Come,  Cruiser,  give  us  the  basket !  Annie  '11  stay 
at  home  to-day,  at  least." 

"Don't  trouble  Cruiser  unnecessarily,"  replied  Annie, 
laughing  pleasantly ;  "  I  have  n't  fallen  heir  to  any  fortune  of 
late,  that  I  am  aware  of,  and  until  I  do,  I  'm  afraid  that  both 
I  and  Cruiser  will  have  to  follow  our  old  vocation." 

"You  know  that  a  fortune  awaits  you,  Annie,"  was  the 
persuasive  response,  "  if  you  would  only  stretch  out  your  hand 
for  it.  How  will  Tom  receive  the  information,  when  he  gets 
up  this  morning,  that  you  have  not  paid  him  the  attention  to 
remain  home  for  one  day,  at  least  ?  " 

"  I  hope  you  will  not  conceal  from  Mr.  Montrie  that  it  is  a 
matter  of  the  utmost  indifference  to  me  how  he  receives  the 
information." 

'•'Your  sister  will  talk  to  you  about  this  matter,"  blustered 
the  man.  "A  girl  like  you  to  throw  away  her  chances  !  " 

"  I  will  listen  patiently  to  anything  my  sister  may  have  to 
say  to  me."  And  Annie,  turning,  was  almost  confronted  by 
Mr.  Peyton,  coming  iri  from  an  early  walk.  He  lifted  his  hat 
with  something  like  reverence,  and  drew  aside  to  let  the  girl 
and  her  four-footed  companion  pass. 

She  did  listen  patiently  to  what  her  sister  said  to  her  that 
evening  in  the  little  family  sitting-room  just  back  of  the  ladies'- 
parlor,  on  the  ground  floor.  One  door  of  this  room  opened 
out  on  a  porch,  on  the  other  side  of  which  rose  the  blank  wall 
of  another  apartment,  built  of  frame,  with  only  one  window 
looking  out  towards  the  street,  and  the  door  opposite  this 
13  K 


146  OVERLAND    TALES. 

window.  Between  this  and  the  bar-room  lay  dining-room, 
pantry,  and  kitchen;  so  that  no  one  from  the  bar-room, 
which  lay  back  of  the  reading-room,  on  the  other  side  of  the 
entrance  hall,  could  see  this  room  with  the  single  door  and 
window. 

In  California  parlance,  "the  tiger"  was  kept  in  this  room. 
If  we  could  have  looked  into  this  gaily-furnished  apartment 
about  the  time  Annie  was  on  her  way  to  her  room,  having  left 
her  sister's  presence  with  tear-stained  eyes,  we  should  have  be- 
held Mr.  Peyton's  pale,  clear-cut  face  bending  over  a  table, 
around  which  a  number  of  men  were  seated.  The  various 
accoutrements  of  the  game  spread  out  before  him,  denoted 
that  this  man,  with  the  well-modulated  musical  voice,  with 
the  soft,  grave  expression  of  countenance,  with  the  quiet, 
gentlemanly  bearing,  was  "the  owner  of  the  tiger." 

The  individual  occupying  the  seat  just  across  from  Mr. 
Peyton  was  his  opposite  in  every  respect.  A  tall,  broad- 
shouldered  mountain-man,  whose  rusty  beard  and  careless 
dress  showed  that,  while  "making  his  stake"  in  the  moun- 
tains, he  had  bestowed  but  little  attention  on  his  personal  ap- 
pearance. No  one  could  have  disputed  his  claims  to  good 
looks,  though  his  glittering  eyes  seemed  small,  and  were  cer- 
tainly too  deep-set ;  and  when  he  laughed,  the  long  white 
teeth  gave  a  kind  of  hyena-look  to  the  whole  face.  Large 
hands,  always  twitching,  and  clumsy  feet,  forever  shuffling, 
gave  him  the  appearance  of  a  bear  restlessly  walking  the 
length  of  his  chain.  Altogether,  in  looks  and  bearing,  he 
contrasted  unfavorably  with  Mr.  Peyton  ;  the  one,  smooth  and 
polished  as  ivory ;  the  other,  rough  and  uncouth  as  the  grizzly 
of  his  mountain  home. 

But  Mr.  Davison,  who  had  softly  opened  the  door,  and  stood 
silently  regarding  him  a  moment,  seemed  fairly  in  love  with 
Mr.  Montrie's  broad  shoulders  and  matted  hair  —  so  gently 
did  he  touch  the  one,  and  stroke  the  other,  as  he  whispered 


POKER-JIM.  147 

into  the  ample  ear  something  which  caused  the  small  eyes  to 
flicker  with  satisfaction  and  delight.  Then,  moving  around 
the  table  to  where  Mr.  Peyton  sat,  he  laid  his  hand  on  this 
gentleman's  shoulder,  but  much  more  timidly,  though  the  faro- 
dealer  looked  delicate,  almost  effeminate,  compared  to  the 
huge  proportions  of  the  man  from  the  mountains. 

"  Jim — "  he  said,  but  corrected  himself —  "  Mr.  Peyton  !  " 
in  an  audible  whisper,  "  I  don't  want  you  to  be  hard  on  that 
man  yonder;  he  '11  soon  be  one  of  the  family,  you  know." 

The  information  was  given  with  many  winks  and  nods  and 
leers,  such  as  men  in  the  first  stages  of  intoxication  are  gen- 
erally prolific  of. 

A  single  keen  glance  from  the  eagle-eyes  of  the  gambler  was 
sent  across  to  where  the  man  from  the  mountains  sat ;  but  it 
sank  to  the  depths  of  the  man's  heart,  and  went  searching 
through  every  corner.  The  next  moment  Mr.  Peyton  was 
deeply  engrossed  in  the  "  lay-out  "  before  him. 

It  was  long  after  midnight  before  "the  tiger"  was  left  to 
darkness  and  solitude  in  the  little  room  at  the  rear  of  the 
"  Eagle  Exchange."  In  the  course  of  the  following  morning, 
when  Mr.  Davison's  brain  was  pretty  well  cleared  of  the  fumes 
of  last  night's  potations,  and  before  the  early-morning  drams 
had  yet  materially  affected  it,  he  was  made  uneasy  by  the  ap- 
proach of  Mr.  Peyton,  of  whom  he  stood  in  unaccountable 
dread. 

"Have  a  cigar,  Henry?"  Mr.  Peyton  extended  one  of 
the  choice  kind  he  always  smoked  himself;  and  then,  by  a 
motion  of  the  hand,  commanded  the  now  thoroughly  sobered 
man  into  a  chair  beside  his  own.  The  reading-room  was  de- 
serted, and  the  paper  Mr.  Peyton  had  picked  up  was  carelessly 
held  so  that  the  fancy  bar-keeper,  who  was  twirling  his  elegant 
black  moustache,  could  not  see  his  lips  move. 

"  Henry,"  Mr.  Peyton  began,  without  further  preliminaries, 
"  if  you  allow  that  man  from  the  mountains  to  press  his  atten- 


148  OVERLAND    TALES. 

tions  on  your  sister-in-law  against  her  wishes,  I  '11  break  every 
bone  in  your  body." 

The  threat  seemed  almost  ridiculous  from  the  delicate,  white- 
fingered  stranger  to  this  burly,  overgrown  piece  of  humanity ; 
yet  Mr.  Davison  did  not  consider  it  so,  for  he  answered,  with 
pleading  voice  and  cringing  manner : 

"  But  if  he  is  to  marry  her — " 

"  Marry  her !  "  repeated  the  gambler,  while  a  flash,  such  as 
the  gate  of  hell  might  emit  were  it  opened  for  a  moment,  shot 
from  his  eyes ;  "I  would  kill  him  first ;  yes,  and  tell  the  girl 
who  it  was  that — " 

"  And  send  them  both  out  on  the  world  again,  to  work  hard 
for  their  bread,  as  I  found  them  ?  ' ' 

"  Better  that  a  thousand  times  than  that  Annie  should  be 
made  miserable,  like  her  sister,  by  being  tied  to  a  worthless 
sot,  or  a  heartless  desperado." 

"You're  hard  on  me,  Jim,"  whined  the  other.  "If  the 
girl  marries  this  man,  a  part  of  his  money  will  go  towards 
paying  off  my  debts,  and  setting  me  straight  again  in  this 
house.  He  '11  .be  good  to  her ;  and  what 's  the  harm  to  any- 
body? You  don't  want  the  girl  —  I  know  your  queer  notions 
of  honor." 

"  Hush  !  "  He  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  for  the  first  time  his 
voice  thrilled,  and  a  quick  flush  darkened  his  brow.  "Not 
another  word  ;  but  so  sure  as  you  drive  the  girl  to  this  step, 
so  sure  will  I  tell  her  sister  who  you  are. ' '  His  figure  appeared 
tall  as  he  moved  away,  and  his  shoulders  looked  broad  and 
strong  as  those  of  the  man  whom  he  left  cowering  in  his  chair 
behind  him. 

This  interview  over,  Mr.  Peyton  seemed  utterly  oblivious 
of  the  existence  of  the  family  at  the  "  Eagle  Exchange. ' '  Mr. 
Davison  said  to  himself,  with  an  inward  chuckle,  that  he  had 
"  gotten  round  Jim  before,  in  spite  of  his  keen  eyes,  and  was 
likely  to  do  so  again ;  "  while  Annie,  still  and  white,  looked 


POKER. JIM.  149 

like  a  bird  wearied  out  with  being  chased,  and  ready  to  fall 
into  the  snarer's  net.  Once  or  twice,  in  meeting  Mr.  Peyton, 
it  seemed  to  him  that  her  hazel  eyes  were  raised  to  his,  with  a 
mute  appeal  in  them ;  and  at  such  times  he  lifted  his  hand 
hastily  to  his  forehead,  where  a  heavy  strand  of  the  raven  hair 
fell  rather  low  into  it,  near  the  right  temple,  as  if  to  assure 
himself  of  the  perfect  arrangement  of  his  hair. 

But  in  spite  of  all  of  Mr.  Davison's  cunning  and  con- 
triving, Mr.  Montrie  evidently  made  slow  progress  in  his 
suit ;  for  his  visits  to  "  the  tiger  "  grew  longer  and  more  fre- 
quent ;  and  soon  it  came  to  be  the  order  of  the  day  that  the 
afternoons,  as  well  as  the  nights,  were  spent  in  the  little  room 
across  the  porch.  A  number  of  new  arrivals  from  the  various 
mining-camps  in  the  mountains  lent  additional  interest  to  the 
games ;  and  bets  were  higher,  and  sittings  longer,  day  after 
day.  It  was  impossible  to  tell  from  Mr.  Peyton's  unchanging 
face  whether  luck  had  been  with  him  or  against  him ;  but  Mr. 
Montrie  seemed  all  of  a  sudden  elated,  either  with  the  win- 
nings he  had  made  off  "  the  tiger,"  or  the  success  he  had  met 
with  in  another  quarter.  Whichever  it  might  be,  Mr.  Peyton, 
coming  unexpectedly  upon  him,  as  he  sat  in  close  consultation 
with  Mr.  Davison  one  morning,  could  not  have  heard  the 
mountain-man's  invitation  to  drink  to  his  luck,  for  he  passed 
straight  on  without  heeding  the  invitation.  Mr.  Davison 
quaked  a  little  before  the  sharp  glance  thrown  over  to  him ; 
"but  then,"  he  consoled  himself,  "d —  it,  Jim  is  such  a 
curious  mortal,  and,  like  as  not,  he  's  forgotten  all  about  it ; 
he  don't  care  for  the  girl,  no  how." 

The  afternoon  saw  them  again  gathered  around  "  the  tiger," 
the  man  from  the  mountains  betting  with  a  kind  of  savage 
recklessness  that  boded  no  good  to  those  who  knew  him  well. 
He  had  not  forgotten  the  slight  Mr.  Peyton  had  put  on  him 
in  the  morning,  according  to  his  code  of  honor,  but  was 


150  OVERLAND    TALES. 

casting  about  in  his  mind  for  some  manner  in  which  to  ex- 
press his  indignation. 

"What  do  you  want  to  be  quarrelling  to-day  for,  Tom?" 
asked  a  lately-arrived  mountain-friend  of  him.  "I  see  that 
gal  of  your'n  this  morning;  took  a  good  look  at  her  when 
she  went  to  school ;  and,  bless  my  stars,  if  you  don't  know 
better  than  to  grumble  all  the  while  on  the  very  day  when  — 

"Your  interest  in  the  game  seems  to  be  flagging,  gentle- 
men," came  Mr.  Peyton's  voice  across  the  table,  with  a  some- 
what hasty  utterance ;  "  shall  we  close  ?  " 

An  energetic  negative  from  the  rest  of  the  company  decided 
the  question  ;  but  Mr.  Montrie,  determined  to  play  marplot, 
said : 

"  For  my  part,  I  'm  tired  of  buckin'  agin  '  the  tiger.'  'Pears 
to  me  a  game  of  poker  might  be  healthy  for  a  change." 

Without  losing  a  word,  Mr.  Peyton  gathered  up  the  faro-kit 
before  him,  and  laid  cards  on  the  table.  Mr.  Montrie's  friend, 
a  slow-spoken,  easy-going  man,  called  Nimble  Bill,  was  seated 
at  the  right  of  this  gentleman,  across  from  Mr.  Peyton's  ac- 
customed seat  at  the  table ;  while  beside  Mr.  Peyton  sat  two 
or  three  others,  who  had  "come  down  in  the  same  batch" 
with  Mr.  Montrie's  friend. 

The  game  progressed  quietly  for  some  time,  Mr.  Montrie 
alone  manifesting  uneasiness  by  frequently  consulting  his 
watch  and  casting  longing  glances  through  the  window. 

"Tom,  old  fellow,  I  believe  you're  regularly  'struck'  at 
last,"  laughed  his  friend.  "  It 's  mighty  nigh  time  for  that 
school  to  let  out,  I  know;  so  we  '11  let  you  off  easy,  and  say 
no  more  about  it ;  ha,  ha,  ha !  "  and  he  turned  for  approval 
to  the  snickering  men  at  the  table. 

Just  then  Mr.  Peyton  raised  his  hand  quickly  to  his  head, 
and  the  light  from  the  diamond  on  his  finger  flashed  directly 
into  the  man's  eyes. 

"By-the-by,  that's  a  mighty  fine  diamond  you've  got;  I 


POKER- JIM.  151 

should  n't  mind  getting  one  to  present  to  Tom's  wife  when  he 
gets  married.  Now,  what  mought  be  about  the  price  of  one 
like  that,  Mr.  —  what  did  you  say  the  gentleman's  name 
was?"  and  he  turned  to  his  friend's  working  face. 

"  'Poker-Jim,'  I  should  say,"  shouted  the  angered  man, 
"  from  the  way  he  's  been  handling  them  cards  this  after- 
noon." 

There  was  a  hasty  movement  among  those  present ;  the  mo- 
tion of  Mr.  Peyton's  hand,  as  he  threw  it  quickly  behind  him, 
was  but  too  well  understood  by  all,  and  hurried  steps  rushed 
toward  the  door.  When  the  smoke  had  almost  cleared  away 
he  was  almost  alone  with  his  victim ;  only  the  friend,  against 
whom  the  dying  man  had  fallen,  was  in  the  room  beside  him. 
But  from  the  outside  approached  heavy  steps,  while  a  shrill 
female  voice  sent  shriek  after  shriek  through  the  house.  Mr. 
Davison's  ashy  face  appeared  at  the  door: 

"Oh,  Jim!  what  have  you  done?  Let's  lay  him  down 
here  easy,  Bill ;  and  now  run  for  the  doctor,  quick ;  and  tell 
the  other  fellows  to  keep  still,  if  they  can." 

"Go  to  your  wife,  Henry,"  ordered  Mr.  Peyton,  with  ex- 
tended hand;  "the  poor  thing  is  in  hysterics." 

A  look  into  the  gambler's  face  told  the  man  he  must  obey ; 
but  in  his  perturbation,  he  did  not  see  the  white  figure  that 
glided  by  him  into  the  room. 

"  Why  did  you  do  it?"  asked  the  girl,  wringing  her  hands, 
but  looking  into  his  eyes  without  a  glance  at  the  prostrate 
body. 

"I  had  to  kill  the  brute  to  keep  him  from  marrying  you, 
Annie.  How  could  I  let  you  fall  into  his  hands  —  you,  the 
daughter  of  the  woman  who  sheltered  me  and  gave  me  a 
home,  when,  a  poor  deserted  boy,  I  lay  bleeding  from  a 
brutal  blow  on  the  street.  Annie,  do  you  not  know  me?" 
He  raised  the  strand  of  hair  that  always  lay  low  on  his  fore- 
head, and  a  deep  scar  appeared  under  it. 


152  OVERLAND    TALES. 

"Jimmy!"  she  cried,  between  surprise  and  joy.  "But, 
oh!"  she  continued,  sadly,  "I  have  found  you  but  to  lose 
you  again.  You  must  go,  quick,  before  they  can  send  the 
sheriff  or  the  doctor." 

"We  must  part;  yes,  and  perhaps  never  meet  again  on 
earth.  But,  ere  we  part,  I  must  give  your  heart  another 
wound.  Your  brother  —  it  was  I  who  — " 

"Murdered  him!"  shrieked  the  girl.  "Cruiser!"  she 
called,  wildly ;  and  the  faithful  animal,  as  if  knowing  the  im- 
port of  the  conversation  in  the  room,  threw  himself  with  a 
fierce,  yelping  bark  against  the  door. 

"  Hold  !  "  and  he  caught  the  girl  as  she  sprang  to  open  it. 
"  Hear  me  out,  while  I  have  yet  time  to  speak.  It  was  I  who 
brought  him  home,  so  that  he  might  sleep  quietly  in  the 
church-yard,  instead  of  finding  a  grave  at  the  bottom  of  the 
Bay.  Ask  Henry  whe  killed  him ;  ask  him  whether  '  Celeste  ' 
was  worth  the  blood  of  the  poor  boy,  and  he  will  not  refuse 
to  tell  the  truth." 

At  the  door  Cruiser  was  scratching  and  whining,  accom- 
panying the  man's  hurried  words  with,  a  weird,  uncanny  mu- 
sic ;  and  now  he  howled  again  as  he  had  howled  on  the  night 
of  poor  Ned's  death. 

"Farewell,  Annie;  your  sister  and  that  dog  will  soon  be 
the  only  friends  you  have.  I  can  neither  claim  you  nor  pro- 
tect you.  Farewell ;  be  happy  if  you  can,  and  —  forget  me." 

"  Never  !  never  !  "  sobbed  the  girl. 

A  hand,  softer  even  than  her  own,  was  passed  tenderly 
through  her  hair  and  over  her  brow ;  a  single  kiss  was  breathed 
on  her  lips,  and  the  next  moment  she  was  alone,  the  dog,  her 
sole  friend,  crouching,  with  every  demonstration  of  devotion 
and  affection,  at  her  feet. 


THE  TRA  GED  Y  AT  MO  HA  WK  STA  TION. 

WE  called  it  our  noon-camp,  though  it  was  really  not  after 
ten  o'clock  in  the  morning.  Ours  was  the  only  ambu- 
lance in  the  "outfit,"  though  there  were  some  three  or 
four  officers  besides  the  captain.  The  captain  had  been  or- 
dered to  report  at  head-quarters  in'San  Francisco  before  going 
East,  and  was  travelling  through  Arizona  as  fast  as  Uncle 
Sam's  mules  could  carry  him,  in  order  to  catch  the  steamer 
that  was  to  leave  the  Pacific  coast  at  the  end  of  the  month. 
It  is  just  a  year  ago,  and  the  Pacific  Railroad  was  not  yet 
completed  ;  which  accounts  for  the  captain's  haste  to  reach 
the  steamer. 

When  we  made  noon-camp  at  the  Government  forage-sta- 
tion called  Stanwick's  Ranch,  we  had  already  performed  an 
ordinary  day's  march  ;  but  we  were  to  accomplish  twenty-five 
miles  more  before  pitching  our  tent  (literally)  at  Mohawk  Sta- 
tion for  the  night.  .  These  "  stations  "  are  not  settlements,  but 
only  stopping-places,  where  Government  teamsters  draw  forage 
for  their  mules,  and  where  water  is  to  be  had ;  —  the  station- 
keepers  sometimes  seeing  no  one  the  whole  year  round  except 
the  Government  and  merchant  trains  passing  along  en  route 
to  Tucson  or  other  military  posts. 

Lunch  had  been  despatched,  and  I  was  lounging,  with  a 
book  in  my  hand,  on  the  seat  of  the  ambulance,  —  one  of 
those  uncomfortable  affairs  called  "dead-carts,"  with  two 
seats  running  the  entire  length  of  the  vehicle,  —  when  the 
captain  put  his  head  in  to  say  that  there  was  an  American 
woman  at  the  station.  White  representatives  of  my  sex  are 
"  few  and  far  between  "  in  Arizona,  and  I  had  made  up  my 

i53 


154  OVERLAND    TALES. 

mind  to  go  into  the  house  and  speak  to  this  one,  even  before 
the  captain  had  added : 

"It  is  the  woman  from  Mohawk  Station." 

The  captain  assisted  me  out  of  the  ambulance,  and  we 
walked  toward  the  house  together.  The  front  room  of  the 
flat  adobe  building  was  bar-room,  store,  office,  parlor;  the 
back  room  was  kitchen,  dining-room,  bed-room;  and  here 
we  found  "the  woman  of  Mohawk  Station."  I  entered  the 
back  room,  at  the  polite  invitation  of  the  station-keeper,  with 
whom  the  captain  fell  into  conversation  in  the  store  or  bar- 
room. 

The  woman  was  young  —  not  over  twenty-five  —  and  had 
been  on  the  way  from  Texas  to  California,  with  her  husband 
and  an  ox-team,  when  Mr.  Hendricks,  the  man  who  kept  the 
forage-station  at  Mohawk,  found  them  camped  near  the  house 
one  day,  and  induced  them  to  stop  with  him.  The  woman 
took  charge  of  the  household,  and  the  man  worked  at  cutting 
firewood  on  the  Gila  and  hauling  it  up  to  the  house  with  the 
station-keeper's  two  horses,  or  at  any  other  job  which  Mr. 
Hendricks  might  require  of  him.  She  had  been  a  healthy, 
hearty  woman  when  they  left  Texas ;  but  laboring  through  the 
hot,  sandy  deserts,  suffering  often  for  water  and  sometimes 
for  food,  had  considerably  "shaken  her,"  and  she  was  glad 
and  willing  to  stop  here,  where  both  she  and  her  husband 
could  earn  money,  and  they  wanted  for  neither  water  nor 
food  —  such  as  it  is  in  Arizona.  It  was  hard  to  believe  she 
had  ever  been  a  robust,  fearless  woman,  as  she  sat  there  cow- 
ering and  shivering,  and  looking  up  at  me  with  eyes  that 
seemed  ready  to  start  from  their  sockets  with  terror. 

"May  I  come  in?"  I  asked,  uncertain  whether  to  venture 
closer  to  the  shrinking  form. 

"Yes,  yes,"  she  said,  breathing  hard,  and  speaking  very 
slowly.  "Come  in.  It'll  do  me  good.  You're  the  first 
woman  I  've  seen  since — since  —  " 


THE    TRAGEDY  AT  MOHAWK  STATION.     I$5 

"Tell  me  all  about  it,"  I  said,  sitting  down  on  the  edge 
of  the  bed,  as  familiarly  as  though  I  had  been  her  intimate 
friend  for  years;  "or will  it  agitate  you  and  make  you  sick?" 

"No,"  she  made  answer;  "I  am  dying  now,  and  I  have 
often  and  often  wished  I  could  see  some  woman  and  tell  her 
the  whole  story  before  I  die.  It  almost  chokes  me  sometimes 
because  I  can't  speak  about  it ;  and  yet  I  always,  always,  think 
about  it.  I  haven't  seen  any  one  but  my  husband  and  the 
station-keeper  these  last  three  weeks  —  there  is  so  little  travel 
now. 

"You  see,  one  Saturday  afternoon  there  were  two  Mexicans 
came  up  this  way  from  Sonora,  and  stopped  at  Mohawk  Sta- 
tion to  camp  for  the  night.  It  was  a  cold,  rainy,  blustering 
day,  and  the  men  tried  to  build  their  fire  against  the  wall  of 
the  house.  It  was  the  only  way  they  could  shelter  themselves 
from  the  wind  and  rain,  as  Mr.  Hendricks  would  not  allow 
them  to  come  into  the  house.  Pretty  soon  Mr.  Hendricks 
drove  them  off,  though  they  pleaded  hard  to  stay ;  and  Colo- 
nel B.,  who  had  arrived  in  the  meantime,  on  his  way  to  Tuc- 
son, told  Mr.  Hendricks  that,  if  he  knew  anything  about 
Mexicans,  those  two  would  come  back  to  take  revenge.  Per- 
haps Mr.  Hendricks  himself  was  afraid  of  it,  as  he  picketed 
his  two  horses  out  between  the  colonel's  tent  and  the  house, 
for  fear  the  Mexicans  might  come  in  the  night  to  drive  them 
off.  But  they  did  not  return  till  Sunday  afternoon,  when, 
after  considerable  wrangling,  Mr.  Hendricks  engaged  them 
both  to  work  for  him.  The  colonel  had  pulled  up  stakes  and 
had  gone  on  his  way  to  Tucson  Sunday  morning,  so  that 
we  were  alone  with  the  Mexicans  during  the  night.  But 
they  behaved  themselves  like  sober,  steady  men ;  and  the  next 
morning  they  and  my  husband  went  down  to  the  river,  some 
three  miles  away,  to  cut  wood,  which  they  were  to  haul  up 
with  the  team  later  in  the  day.  Have  you  been  at  Mohawk 
Station,  and  do  you  know  how  the  house  is  built  ?  ' '  she  asked, 
interrupting  herself. 


156  OVERLAND    TALES. 

"We  camped  there  on  our  way  out,"  I  said;  "and  I  re- 
member that  an  open  corridor  runs  through  the  whole  length 
of  the  house,  and  some  two  or  three  rooms  open  into  each 
other  on  either  side." 

"  Very  well ;  you  remember  the  kitchen  is  the  last  room  on 
the  left  of  the  corridor,  while  the  store-room  and  bar  is  the 
first  room  to  the  right.  Back  of  this  is  the  little  room  in 
which  Mr.  Hendricks's  bed  stood,  just  under  the  window;  and 
opposite  to  this  room,  next  to  the  kitchen,  is  the  dining-room. 

"  It  was  still  early  in  the  day,  and  I  was  busy  in  the  kitchen, 
when  I  heard  a  shot  fired  in  the  front  part  of  the  house ;  but 
as  it  was  nothing  unusual  for  Mr.  Hendricks  to  fire  at  rabbits 
or  coyotes  from  the  door  of  the  bar-room,  I  thought  nothing 
of  it,  till  I  saw  the  two  Mexicans,  some  time  after,  mounted 
on  Mr.  Hendricks's  horses,  riding  off  over  toward  the  moun- 
tains. When  I  first  saw  them,  I  thought  they  might  be  going 
to  take  the  horses  down  to  the  river ;  but  then,  I  said  to  my- 
self, the  Gila  don't  run  along  by  the  mountains.  All  at  once 
a  dreadful  thought  flashed  through  my  head,  and  I  began  to 
tremble  so  that  I  could  hardly  stand  on  my  feet.  I  crept  into 
the  corridor  on  tip-toe,  and  went  into  the  bar-room  from  the 
outside.  From  the  bar-room  I  could  look  on  Mr.  Hen- 
dricks's bed.  He  was  lying  across  the  bed,  with  his  head 
just  under  the  window.  I  wanted  to  wake  him  up,  to  tell 
him  that  the  Mexicans  were  making  off  with  his  horses,  but 
somehow  I  was  afraid  to  call  out  or  to  go  up  to  him ;  so  I 
crept  around  to  the  outside  of  the  house  till  I  got  to  the  win- 
dow, and  then  looked  in.  Oh,  dear  !  oh,  dear !  I  can't  forget 
the  dreadful,  stony  eyes  that  glared  at  me  from  the  bruised 
and  blood-stained  face ;  and  after  one  look,  I  turned  and  ran 
as  fast  as  I  could.  Perhaps  I  ought  to  have  gone  into  the 
house,  to  see  if  he  were  really  dead,  or  if  I  could  help  him  or 
do  anything  for  him ;  but  I  could  not.  I  ran  and  ran,  always 
in  the  direction  my  husband  had  taken  in  the  morning.  At 
one  time  I  thought  I  heard  some  one  running  behind  me,  and 


THE   TRAGEDY  AT  MOHAWK  STATION.     157 

when  I  turned  to  look,  the  slippery  sand  under  foot  gave  way, 
and  I  fell  headlong  into  a  bed  of  cactus,  tearing  and  scratch- 
ing my  face  and  hands  and  arms ;  and  when  I  got  up  again  I 
thought  some  one  was  jumping  out  from  the  verde-bushes,  but 
it  was  only  a  rabbit  running  along.  Before  I  got  many  steps 
farther  I  slipped  again,  and  something  rattled  and  wriggled 
right  close  by  me.  It  was  a  rattlesnake,  on-  which  I  had 
stepped  in  my  blindness.  I  ran  on  until  I  could  not  get  my 
breath  any  more,  and  staggered  at  every  step ;  and  just  when 
I  thought  I  must  fall  down  and  die,  I  saw  my  husband  coming 
toward  me.  He  was  coming  home  to  see  what  was  keeping 
the  Mexicans  so  long  in  bringing  the  horses  down  to  the 
river ;  and  when  I  could  get  my  breath,  I  told  him  what  had 
happened.  We  went  back  together,  but  I  would  not  go  into 
the  house  with  him ;  so  he  hid  me  in  a  thick  verde-bush,  be- 
hind some  prickly-pears,  and  went  in  alone.  Directly  he 
came  back  to  me.  He  had  found  the  corpse  just  as  I  had 
described  it.  To  all  appearances,  Mr.  Hendricks  had  thrown 
himself  on  the  bed  for  a  short  nap,  as  the  morning  was  very 
warm.  The  Mexicans  must  have  crept  in  on  him,  shot  him 
with  his  own  revolver,  and  then  beaten  him  over  the  head  and 
face  with  a  short  heavy  club  that  was  found  on  the  bed  beside 
him,  all  smeared  with  blood. 

"Then  my  husband  said  to  me:  'Mary,  you've  got  to 
stay  here  till  I  go  to  Antelope  Peak  and  bring  up  Johnson, 
the  station-keeper.  You  can't  go  with  me,  because  it 's  full 
twenty-five  miles,  if  not  more,  and  you  can't  walk  twenty-five 
steps.  But  those  Mexicans  are  going  to  come  back  while  I 
am  gone  —  I  know  they  are,  because  they  haven't  taken  any 
plunder  with  them  yet.  They'll  hide  the  horses  in  the  moun- 
tains, most  likely,  and  then  go  down  to  the  river  to  look  for 
me;  and  after  that  they'll  come  back  here,  and  they'll  look 
for  us  high  and  low.' 

"  I  knew  that  what  he  said  was  true,  every  word  of  it ;  and 


158  OVERLAND    TALES. 

the  only  thing  he  could  do  was  to  find  me  a  good  hiding-place 
a  good  ways  off  from  the  house,  but  still  near  enough  for  me 
to  see  the  house,  and  the  window  where  the  dead  man  lay. 
Well,  first  I  watched  David  till  out  of  sight,  and  then  I 
watched  the  window,  and  then  I  watched  and  peered  and 
looked  on  every  side  of  me,  till  my  eyes  grew  blind  from  the 
glaring  sun  and  the  shining  sand. 

"All  at  once  I  heard  some  voices  j  and  I  almost  went  into 
a  fit  when  I  heard  footsteps  crunching  nearer  and  'nearer  in 
the  sand.  They  were  the  Mexicans,  sure  enough,  coming  up 
from  the  river,  and  passing  within  a  few  steps  of  my  hiding- 
place.  Both  carried  heavy  cudgels,  which  they  had  brought 
with  them  from  where  they  had  been  cutting  wood  in  the 
morning.  When  they  got  near  the  house  they  stopped  talk- 
ing, and  I  saw  them  sneak  up  to  it,  and  then  vanish  around 
the  corner,  as  though  to  visit  the  kitchen  first.  A  few  min- 
utes later  I  saw  them  come  out  of  the  bar-room,  and,  oh, 
heavens  !  I  saw  they  were  trying  to  follow  my  husband's  foot- 
prints, that  led  directly  to  the  verde-bush  behind  which  I  was 
hiding  ;  but  the  wind  had  been  blowing,  and  it  seemed  hard 
for  them  to  follow  the  trail.  Still  they  came  nearer ;  and  the 
terror  and  suspense,  and  the  sickening  fear  that  came  over  me, 
when  I  saw  them  brandishing  their  clubs  and  bringing  them 
down  occasionally  on  a  clump  of  verde-bushes,  wellnigh  took 
what  little  sense  and  breath  I  had  left,  and  I  verily  believe  I 
should  have  screamed  out  in  very  horror,  and  so  brought 
their  murderous  clubs  on  my  head  at  once,  to  make  an  end 
of  my  misery,  if  I  had  had  strength  enough  left  to  raise  my 
voice.  But  I  could  neither  move  nor  utter  a  sound  ;  I  could 
only  strain  my  eyes  to  look.  After  a  while  they  got  tired  of 
searching,  and  went  back  to  the  house,  where  they  stood  at 
the  window  a  moment  to  look  in  on  the  dead  man,  as  though 
to  see  if  he  had  stirred ;  then  they  went  in  at  the  bar-room, 
and  came  out  directly,  loaded  with  plunder. 

"  One  of  the  men  carried  both  Mr.  Hendricks's  and  my 


THE    TRAGEDY  AT  MO  HAWK  STATION,     159 

husband's  rifle,  and  the  other  had  buckled  on  Mr.  Hendricks's 
revolver.  They  had  thrown  aside  their  ponchos,  and  one  had 
on  my  husband's  best  coat,  while  the  other  wore  Mr.  Hen- 
dricks's soldier-overcoat.  Even  the  hat  off  the  dead  man's 
head  they  had  taken,  and  also,  as  was  afterwards  found,  the 
black  silk  handkerchief  he  had  on  his  neck  when  they  killed 
him.  Again  they  took  their  way  over  toward  the  mountains, 
and  then  everything  around  me  was  deadly  still.  Oh,  how  I 
wished  for  a  living,  breathing  thing  to  speak  to,  then  !  I 
should  not  be  the  poor,  half-demented  creature  that  I  am  to- 
day, if  only  a  dog  could  have  looked  up  at  me,  with  kind, 
affectionate  gaze.  But  the  half-open  eyes  of  the  man  seemed 
staring  at  me  from  the  window,  and  I  kept  watching  it,  half 
thinking  that  the  dreadful,  mangled  face  would  thrust  itself 
out. 

"  By  and  by  the  coyotes,  scenting  the  dead  body  in  the 
house,  came  stealthily  from  all  sides,  surrounding  the  house, 
and  howling  louder  and  louder  when  they  found  that  they 
were  not  received  with  their  usual  greeting  — a  dose  of  powder 
and  ball.  At  last  one  of  them,  bolder  or  hungrier  than  the 
rest,  made  a  leap  to  get  up  to  the  window ;  but  just  as  his 
fore-paw  touched  the  window-sill  something  was  hurled  from 
the  window,  which  struck  the  wolf  on  the  head  and  stampeded 
the  whole  yelping  pack.  This  was  too  much ;  and  I  must 
have  fainted  dead  away,  for  my  husband  said  that  when  they 
found  me  I  was  as  stiff  and  cold  as  the  corpse  in  the  house. 
What  I  thought  had  been  hurled  from  the  window  was  only  a 
piece  of  a  cracker-box,  used  as  target,  and  put  out  of  the  way 
on  the  broad  adobe  window-sill,  where  the  paw  of  the  coyote 
had  touched  it  and  pulled  it  down  over  him.  I  would  not 
go  into  the  house,  and  as  Mr.  Johnson  thought  it  best  to  give 
information  of  what  had  happened  at  Stanwick's  Ranch,  we 
all  came  down  here  together,  and  I  have  been  here  ever  since. 
My  husband  is  waiting  for  a  chance  to  go  back  to  Texas.  I 
wish  we  could  get  back;  for  I  don't  want  to  be  buried  out 


l6o  OVERLAND    TALES. 

here  in  the  sand,  among  the  coyotes  and  rattlesnakes,  like 
poor  Mr.  Hendricks." 

The  ambulance  had  been  waiting  at  the  door  for  me  quite 
a  while;  so  I  thanked  the  woman  for  "telling  me  all  about 
it,"  and  tried  to  say  something  cheering  to  her.  When  I 
turned  to  leave  the  room  she  clutched  at  my  dress. 

"  Stop,"  she  said,  nervously;  "don't  leave  me  here  in  the 
room  alone ;  —  I  can't  bear  to  stay  alone  !  " 

She  followed  me  slowly  into  the  bar-room,  and  when  the 
man  there  went  to  the  ambulance  to  speak  to  the  captain, 
she  crept  out  after  him  and  stood  in  the  sun  till  he  returned. 

"The  poor  woman,"  said  I,  compassionately;  "how  I 
pity  her  !  " 

"The  poor  woman,"  echoed  the  station-keeper;  "those 
two  Greasers  have  killed  her  just  as  dead  as  if  they  had  beaten 
her  brains  out  on  the  spot." 

The  shades  of  night  were  already  falling  around  Mohawk 
Station  when  we  reached  it.  It  was  quite  a  pretentious 
house,  built  of  adobe,  and  boasting  of  but  one  story,  of 
course ;  but  it  is  not  every  one  in  Arizona  who  can  build  a 
house  with  four  rooms, —  if  the  doors  do  consist  of  old  blan- 
kets, and  the  floor  and  ceiling,  like  the  walls,  of  mud. 

A  discharged  soldier  kept  the  station  now  —  a  large  yellow 
dog  his  sole  companion.  The  man  slept  on  the  same  bed  that 
had  borne  Hendricks' s  corpse,  and  the  cudgel,  with  the  mur- 
dered man's  blood  dried  on  it,  was  lying  at  the  foot  of  it. 

"  And  where  is  his  grave  ?  "  I  asked. 

The  man's  eye  travelled  slowly  over  the  desolate  landscape 
before  us.  There  were  sand,  verde,  and  cactus,  on  one  side 
of  us,-  and  there  were  sand,  verde,  and  cactus,  on  the  other. 

"Well,  really  now,  I  couldn't  tell.  You  see,  I  wasn't 
here  when  they  put  him  in  the  ground,  and  I  have  n't  thought 
of  his  grave  since  I  come.  Fact  is,  I  've  got  to  keep  my  eyes 
open  for  live  Greasers  and  Pache-Indians,  and  don't  get  much 
time  to  hunt  up  dead  folks's  graves  !  " 


LONE  LINDEN. 

IT  is  just  the  place  for  you ;  Clara  will  find  it  sufficiently 
romantic,  Miss  Barbara  can  have  Snowball  and  Kickup 
both  with  her,  and  you,  dear  friend,  will  be  pleased  be- 
cause the  rest  of  us  are." 

The  letter  was  signed  "  Christine  Ernst ; "  and  Mrs.  Wardor, 
when  she  had  finished  reading,  continued  in  her  quiet,  even 
tones : 

"  What  an  unaccountable  being  she  is ;  I  thought  her  cold 
and  unfeeling,  because  she  dismissed  that  fine  young  fellow  so 
unceremoniously,  when  we  all  thought  her  heart  was  bound 
up  in  him." 

"  Ah,  me  !  "  sighed  Clara,  fair  of  face,  blue-eyed,  and  with 
feathery  curls  of  the  palest  yellow.  "  How  little  we  know  of 
the  sorrow  that  sits  silent  in  our  neighbor's  breast.  The  senti- 
ment— " 

"Oh,  bother  sentiment !  "  broke  in  Miss  Barbara,  impetu- 
ously, flinging  back  the  heavy  braids  of  unquestionably  red 
hair  that  had  strayed  over  her  shoulder.  "  Daisy,  my  snow- 
ball, imagine,  if  you  can,  a  large  lot,  a  meadow,  or  paddock, 
or  something  with  grass,  for  Kickup,  you  and  me  !  Oh,  won't 
it  be  jolly,  though  ?  "  And  seizing  the  sweet  Daisy,  a  squat, 
broad-faced  Indian  girl,  whom  Barbara's  father,  an  army  con- 
tractor, had  picked  up  somewhere  around  Fort  Yuma,  they 
executed  a  species  of  war- dance  that  sent  chairs,  crickets,  and 
bouquet-stands  flying,  and  caused  Mrs.  Wardor  and  her  o  her 
companion  to  exchange  significant  head-shakings. 

Having  suddenly  loosed  her  hold  of  Daisy  in  the  wildest  of 
14  *  L  161 


l62  OVERLAND    TALES. 

the  dance,  and  sent  her  spinning  into  the  corner  where  her 
head  struck  the  whatnot,  Miss  Barbara  approached  the  elder 
lady,  panting,  and  with  deep  contrition. 

"  Forgive  me,  Aunt  Wardor  j  I  shan't  forget  my  young-lady 
manners  again  for  a  whole  week.  But  it  did  seem  such  a  re- 
lief, just  the  thought  of  getting  away  from  this  cramped  little 
house,  and  into  the  open  air  again,  that  I  could  not  help  being 
rude  to  Lady  Clara."  She  seized  the  slender  fingers  of  the 
young  lady,  in  spite  of  the  little  spasmodic  motion  with  which 
they  seemed  to  shrink  from  the  hearty  grasp. 

"  But,  Barbara,"  urged  Mrs.  Wardor,  somewhat  mollified 
by  the  affectionate  "Aunt,"  "when  a  girl  of  your  age  avers 
that  she  is  a  young  lady,  how  can  she  constantly  forget  her- 
self, and  act  the  child  and  the  romp, again." 

A  flush  passed  over  the  girl's  face,  a  handsome  face,  full  of 
life  and  animation,  which  a  few  little  freckles  seemed  really 
to  finish  off,  as  she  turned  sharply  from  both,  and  seated  her- 
self in  the  most  stately  manner  at  the  grand  piano,  the  recent 
birthday  gift  of  her  father. 

Barbara  was  his  only  daughter,  "and  he  a  widower,"  who 
was  surprised  one  day  to  find  that  she  was  receiving  the  marked 
attentions  of  a  young  gentleman  matrimonially  inclined,  at 
the  springs  where  she  was  spending  her  vacations,  with  all  the 
assurance  and  matter-of-course  air  of  a  "grown-up  lady," 
when  he  had  never  dreamed  but  that  she  was  only  a  child. 
He  thought  to  cut  the  matter  short  by  returning  her  instantly 
to  the  seminary;  but  soon  learned  from  the  conscientious 
lady  at  the  head  of  the  establishment  that  the  young  gentle- 
man was  persistent  in  his  devotions,  and  Miss  Barbara  as  per- 
sistent in  breaking  the  rules  of  the  institution.  Then  he 
bethought  him  of  a  lady  whose  calm  dignity  and  quiet  self- 
possession  had  always  somewhat  oppressed  him  when  he  had 
occasionally  met  her  in  his  wife's  parlors,  during  that  estimable 
woman's  life  time.  And  recollecting  how  his  wife  had  honestly 


LONE  LINDEN.  163 

lamented  that  her  daughter  could  not  live  under  the  influences 
of  a  cultivated  mind,  and  the  refined  manners  which  she,  her- 
self, did  not  possess,  he  went  boldly  to  Mrs.  Wardor  one  day, 
and  proposed  that  she  should  take  charge  of  the  self-willed 
girl,  who  insisted  on  being  treated  with  the  consideration  due 
a  young  lady  owning  a  declared,  though  forbidden  lover. 
To  Mrs.  Wardor  the  proposition  was  acceptable ;  some  years 
before,  true  to  the  "  gambling  instincts  "  of  an  old  Californian, 
her  husband  had  staked  his  all  on  some  favorite  mining  stock, 
and,  after  losing,  had  taken  his  chances  of  striking  something 
better  in  the  next  world,  by  blowing  his  brains  out  when  he 
found  himself  "  on  bedrock ' '  in  this.  Like  a  sensible  woman, 
she  had  given  up  her  elegant  establishment  without  grieving 
very  much,  had  secured  a  smaller  house,  and  thought  herself 
fortunate  in  finding  a  class  of  boarders  who  shocked  neither 
her  sensitive  nerves  nor  her  fastidious  taste. 

Among  the  very  limited  number  was  a  young  girl  who  had 
left  the  Fatherland  when  quite  young,  and  had  been  educated 
by  an  older  brother,  since  dead.  Her  love  and  talent  for 
music,  together  with  what  she  called  her  Deutsche  Geduld, 
had  stood  her  in  good  stead,  and  Miss  Ernst  was  now  con- 
sidered one  of  the  best  music  teachers  on  the  Coast. 

When  Barbara  Farnsworth  was  placed  in  her  charge,  Mrs. 
Wardor  felt  justified  in  restricting  the  number  of  her  boarders 
to  two,  outside  of  this  young  lady  —  so  liberal  were  the  terms 
Mr.  Farnsworth  urged  upon  her.  The  one  other  boarder  besides 
Miss  Ernst,  was  the  fair  lady  with  the  golden  curls,  who  had 
lost  mother  and  husband  within  the  year,  but  found  an  ample 
fortune  at  her  disposal  on  the  death  of  the  latter.  The  mother 
had  been  Mrs.  Wardor's  most  cherished  friend,  and  the  fittest 
place  for  Lady  Clare,  as  Miss  Barbara  called  her,  seemed  Mrs. 
Wardor's  house.  Here  she  had  found  already  domiciled  Miss 
Ernst,  who,  a  few  months  later,  to  the  astonishment  of  every- 
body, left  her  home  and  the  city,  in  consequence  of  a  quarrel 


164  OVERLAND    TALES. 

with  her  betrothed,  as  he  was  supposed  to  be  by  people  who 
knew  other  people's  business  better  than  their  own.  A  close 
friendship  had  sprung  up  between  the  two  young  women,  and 
Clara,  it  was  surmised,  was  the  only  one  who  knew  of  Miss 
Ernst's  reasons  for  the  unlocked  for  departure,  just  as  Miss 
Ernst  was  the  only  one  who  knew  much,  or  anything,  of  Clara 
Hildreth's  "heart-sorrows." 

That  she  had  had  such  sorrows,  no  one  could  doubt  who 
looked  into  the  large  blue  eyes,  with  their  melancholy  expres- 
sion, or  noticed  the  droop  of  the  small,  gracefully-poised  head. 
It  was  not  surprising  that  this  tender,  clinging  creature  should 
miss  the  prop  and  staff  afforded  by  the  resolute  yet  sympa- 
thetic nature  of  her  friend ;  and  when  the  letter  came  suggest- 
ing that  Mrs.  Wardor  spend  the  summer  in  San  Josi2,  where 
Christine  could  be  one  of  her  family  again,  the  idea  was  seized 
upon  with  avidity  by  all,  and  in  three  days'  time,  Miss  Bar- 
bara had  convinced  her  father,  Clara,  and  Mrs.  Wardor,  that 
the  place  Christine  Ernst  had  described  was  just  the  place  for 
them. 

"Let's  go  at  once,"  said  Miss  Barbara,  late  in  the  evening, 
with  her  usual  precipitation ;  but  Mrs.  Wardor  quieted  her  by 
enumerating  the  thousand  and  one  things  to  be  done  before 
the  removal  could  be  effected  —  first  and  foremost  among 
which  was  the  task  of  securing  the  house  before  it  could  be 
moved  into. 

It  was  decided  that  Mrs.  Wardor  and  Clara  should  go  to 
San  Jose  on  the  next  morning's  train  and  return  at  night, 
leaving  Miss  Barbara  to  the  care  of  her  "  Indian  maid  "  and 
the  servants  in  the  house. 

Arrived  at  the  depot  in  San  Jose,  they  found  Christine, 
whose  dark  hair,  olive  skin,  and  Roman  features  utterly  be- 
lied her  purely  German  descent.  She  embraced  Clara  with 
the  protecting  air  of  an  older  sister;  and  pressing  Mrs.  War- 
dor's  hand,  led  them  to  the  carriage  awaiting  them. 


LONE  LINDEN.  165 

"You  have  worked  too  hard,  I  fear,  Christine,"  said  Mrs. 
Wardor.  "You  look  tired  and  thin." 

"Not  tired,"  was  the  answer,  "but  I  am  among  strangers, 
and  have  so  missed  my  home.  You  know  how  we  Germans 
cling  to  people  we  love." 

"  Yes  ?  "  Perhaps  Mrs.  Wardor  was  thinking  of  the  lover, 
discarded,  among  strangers  in  a  strange  land.  Clara  held  her 
friend's  hand,  and  asked  how  far  they  would  have  to  go — she 
felt  that  Christine  was  pained. 

"  Only  a  short  way;  but  the  owner  of  the  place  is  a  queer 
genius,  a  German,  like  myself,  with  whom  no  one  can  live  in 
peace,  they  say.  But  I  know  we  can,  though  he  insists  on 
occupying  a  little  hut  in  one  corner  of  the  grounds.  Fifty 
people  have  wanted  the  place,  but  he  has  never  been  in  a 
humor  to  let  it  since  the  last  occupant  moved  out.  I  mean  to 
bring  the  charms  of  his  mother-tongue  to  bear  upon  him, 
though  I  know  it  will  make  me  hoarse  for  a  week,  more  espe- 
cially as  he  is  slightly  deaf." 

The  carriage  had  stopped  at  the  gate,  and  the  three  women 
made  their  way  through  a  well-kept  garden  to  a  little  shanty 
they  espied  at  the  farthest  end  of  it.  The  dwelling-house 
itself  consisted  of  a  one-story  adobe,  to  which  had  been  added, 
much  later,  a  frame  building  of  two  stories.  The  adobe  part 
of  the  building  contained  kitchen,  breakfast  and  sitting-room, 
from  which  a  low  bay-window  reached  out  into  the  garden, 
where  flowers  stole  up  almost  to  within  the  room,  and  the  ivy, 
mingling  with  the  bright  green  of  the  climbing  rose,  reached 
upward  to  soften  the  abrupt  joining  of  the  gray  adobe  with  the 
glaring  white  of  the  frame  portion.  This,  though  the  more 
stately  part  of  the  building,  had  not  the  home-look  of  the 
adobe,  around  the  flat  roof  of  which  ran  a  low  railing,  making 
a  balcony  of  it  for  the  service  of  the  new  wing. 

"How  happy  we  shall  be  here,"  exclaimed  Clara,  with 
genuine  delight.  At  this  moment  a  strange  figure,  clad  in 


l66  OVERLAND    TALES. 

loose  garments,  and  with  flowing  gray  beard,  deep-set  eyes, 
and  holding  a  long  pipe  in  his  mouth,  came  into  sight.  De- 
positing the  pipe  carefully  behind  a  garden  vase,  the  man 
advanced  with  dignified  yet  courteous  bearing.  He  looked 
with  the  questioning  scrutiny  peculiar  to  people  hard  of  hear- 
ing, from  one  to  the  other;  but  when  Christine's  words 
reached  his  dull  ears  at  last,  it  was  to  fair-faced  Clara  he 
turned  inquiringly. 

"Wie  sagten  Sie,  Fraulein?     Sprechen  Sie  Deutsch?" 

Christine  repeated  her  question,  and  he  turned  slowly  to- 
ward her.  "I  thought  it  was  she  who  spoke  the  German," 
motioning  toward  Clara;  "but  I  like  your  looks,  too,"  he 
continued,  taking  Christine's  hand  into  his  with  a  sudden, 
fatherly  impulse.  "And  you  would  come  and  live  in  my 
house,  lady,"  he  said,  addressing  Mrs.  Wardor  in  his  Ger- 
man-English. "Take  care  —  I  say  it  to  you  —  take  care. 
It  is  a  lonely  place,  and  makes  to  be  alone  in  the  world  every 
one  who  lives  in  it.  See  me,  an.  old  man,  alone  —  alone.  It 
is  a  bad  spell  on  the  place ;  it  will  make  you  alone,  too. ' ' 

The  three  women  exchanged  glances.  Alone  ?  Whom  had 
they  belonging  to  them?  It  was  only  their  friendship  for 
each  other  that  made  their  "alone"  different  from  that  of  the 
old  man  before  them. 

"And  these  flowers,  so  beautiful,"  he  continued,  "will  you 
love  them,  too?  I  will  nurse  them  for  you;  but  don't  be 
afraid — the  old  man  will  not  be  troublesome  to  you."  He 
had  misunderstood  the  movement  among  them ;  they,  were  only 
congratulating  each  other  on  having  accomplished  so  easily 
what  Christine  had  been  taught  to  look  upon  as  a  difficult 
task.  They  hastened  to  assure  him  how  glad  they  would 
always  be  to  have  him  with  them ;  and  he  looked  wistfully 
at  Clara  again,  muttering,  "Ah,  I  thought  she  was  the 
German." 

"There  it  is  again,"  said  Christine,  turning  to  her;  "I 


LONE   LINDEN.  l6? 

never  try  for  a  beau  but  you  coax  him  away  from  me  with 
your  blue  eyes  and  yellow  curls.  I  shall  act  out  my  charac- 
ter of  a  dark  Spanish  beauty  some  day,  and  leave  you  with  a 
jewel-hilted  dagger  in  your  heart  for  luring  my  own  true  love 
from  his  faith  to  me." 

They  followed  their  guide  to  the  other  side  of  the  house, 
where,  near  his  own  cabin,  arose^a  little  knoll  or  mound,  evi- 
dently artificial,  though  not  smoothly  finished.  A  sparse 
growth  of  grass  covered  it,  and  on  one  side  there  was  a  rag- 
ged depression,  as  though  a  tree  might  have  been  torn  from 
the  soil  at  some  past  time.  Just  above  this  stood  a  linden 
tree,  lonely  enough.  There  were  no  other  trees  on  this  side 
of  the  house,  though  pepper,  poplar,  and  cypress  trees  were 
distributed  with  a  good  deal  of  taste  through  the  rest  of  the 
grounds. 

"  Lone  linden,"  mused  Clara;  and  though  the  words  were 
spoken  low,  the  old  man  seemed  to  have  read  it  from  her  lips. 

"The  other  people  have  called  it  so,  and  it  seems  right. 
The  only  one  left,"  he  said,  softly  passing  his  hand  over  the 
bark  of  the  tree.  "  You  would  not  think  how  many  they 
were  at  one  time;  but  they  are  all  dead  and  gone.  My  dear 
ones  all  lie  buried  here." 

"Here?"  echoed  Clara,  touching  the  mound. 

"No,  not  the  bodies,  you  know;  es  ist  nur  die  Erinne- 
rung,"  he  turned  to  Christine.  She  bowed  her  head  silently, 
and  with  the  deep  "  verstandnissvolle  "  look  of  her  honest 
eyes  she  had  won  the  old  man's  confidence  forever. 

They  turned  back  to  the  more  cheerful  part  of  the  garden, 
trying  to  shake  oif  the  gloom  the  linden  with  its  deep  shadow 
had  thrown  on  them,  and  Clara  railed  at  her  friend  for  looking 
solemn  as  an  owl.  "  Not  a  line  of  poetry  have  you  quoted 
to-day  —  not  a  note  have  you  sung." 

At  the  same  time  the  old  man  was  saying  to  Mrs.  Wardor, 
"  See,  lady,  all  these  lilies,  white  as  snow.  At  home,  in  Ger- 


168  OVERLAND    TALES. 

many,  they  were  my  mother's  pet  flowers,  and  I  am  keeping 
these  to  be  planted  on  my  grave."  An  !  Christine,  stooping 
to  break  three  of  them,  chanted  dolefully  — 

"'Drei  Lilien,  clrei  Lilien  — 

Die  pflanzt  mir  auf  mein  Grab.'  " 

"  There  "  — she  turned  to  Clara —  "  that's  music  for  you." 
Right  here,  let  me  confide  to  the  reader  Christine's  great 
failing  —  the  weak  point  in  this  strong  nature.  She  had  a 
queer  habit  of  keeping  up  a  sort  of  running  comment  on  any 
conversation  that  took  place  in  her  presence  —  any  occur- 
rence that  came  under  her  observation ;  comment  in  the  shape 
of  bits  of  poetry  or  song,  that  she  sang  softly  to  herself.  But 
she  could  not  sing  —  and  that  was  the  great  failing.  Think 
of  a  music-teacher  who  could  not,  if  life  depended  on  it,  sing 
a  dozen  notes  in  the  same  key,  but  would  drop  lower  and 
lower,  "  till  her  voice  fell  clear  into  the  cellar  "  —  according 
to  the  girl's  own  statement. 

Mr.  Muldweber  seemed  loath  to  part  with  his  prospective 
tenants,  but  was  assured  that  the  close  of  the  week  would  find 
them  at  Lone  Linden.  When  they  reached  the  depot,  the 
train  that  was  to  take  Mrs.  Wardor  and  Clara  back  to  the  city 
was  ready,  and  Christine  had  only  just  time  to  apostrophize 
Clara's  eyes  — 

"Lebt  wohl  ihr  Augen,  ihr  schonen  blauen," 

before  it  started. 

On  reaching  home,  Miss  Barbara  met  them  at  the  threshold, 
with  flaming  cheeks  and  sparkling  eyes.  "  Such  a  romp  as  I 
have  had  with  Snowball,"  she  explained;  and  the  Indian  girl 
laughed  like  an  imp  of  the  devil.  Mrs.  Wardor  chided  the 
young  lady  for  romping,  but  Clara  drew  back  from  the  girl 
with  an  uncomfortable  feeling.  Clara's  cheeks  boasted  but  a 
delicate  pink  tinge  at  best,  and  to-night,  in  the  glare  of 


LONE  LINDEN.  l6g 

the  gas,  after  the  day's  fatigue,  she  looked  almost  haggard 
beside  the  robust,  health-glowing  girl. 

" How  old  are  you,  Lady  Clare? "  she  asked  in  the  course 
of  the  evening. 

"Twenty-two.     Why?" 

" Oh,  nothing;  only  when  I  get  to  be  as  old  as  you  are  I 
shall  wear  black  constantly,  just  as  you  do,  particularly  if  I 
have  lost  all  my  color,  too." 

"A  wise  resolution.  I  never  had  your  color,  though. 
Neither  my  face  nor  my  hair  was  ever  red  — nor  my  mother's, 
before  me.  Perhaps  she  did  not  stand  over  the  hot  fire  as 
much  as  your  mother  did." 

"  Yes  —  I  know  they  say  mother  '  lived  out '  as  cook  when 
she  first  came  to  California;  but  then  —  Ml  did  n't  have  to 
marry  to  get  a  home." 

It  was  all  out  now;  though  the  girl  sent  the  shaft  almost  at 
random,  it  had  struck  the  sore  spot.  Clara  had  married  for 
a  home.  Her  mother  had  expended  her  meagre  fortune  on 
Clara's  education,  never  doubting  that  the  girl's  loveliness 
would  attract  a  goodly  number  of  suitors,  from  whom  the  most 
suitable,  that  is,  the  wealthiest,  could  be  chosen.  Whether 
Clara  was  less  worldly  or  more  romantic — at  any  rate  she  lost 
her  heart  to  a  young  man  in  society,  who  was  considered  an 
ornament  of  that  society  —  though  it  would  have  puzzled  a 
common  mortal  to  discover  why.  His  upper  lip  boasted  a 
full,  silken  moustache,  and  he  could  turn  over  the  music  sheets, 
standing  beside  the  young  lady  performing  on  the  piano,  with 
unequalled  grace ;  he  sang  a  languid  tenor,  and  could  fasten 
his  eyes  on  a  lady  with  a  melting,  melancholy  look,  as  if 
sighing  in  his  heart,  "could  I  but  die  for  thee." 

It  was  what  he  spoke  out  aloud  to  Clara,  when,  after  months 

of  intimate  acquaintance,  he  understood  that  Clara's  mother 

wanted  to  see  her  daughter  "settled."     But  he  did  n't  die; 

he  only  bewailed  his  fate,  his  inability  to  make  her  his  cher- 

'5 


I/O  OVERLAND    TALES. 

ished  wife,  and  lay  all  the  treasures  of  the  Golden  State  at 
her  feet.  To  quote  Christine's  hard,  unsympathetic  opin- 
ion, he  was  "a  graceless  monkey,  a  fortune  hunter,  without 
ambition  enough  to  try  for  a  living  for  himself,  let  alone  for 
the  woman  he  professed  to  adore."  Amid  tears  and  protesta- 
tions of  breaking  hearts  and  darkened  lives  they  parted :  Clara 
to  give  her  hand,  at  her  mother's  entreaties,  to  a  man  of  great 
wealth  and  corresponding  age  and  respectability  —  her  lover 
to  continue  his  search  for  a  wife  who  could  boast  of  money 
besides  beauty  and  amiability. 

Miss  Barbara's  heart  was  good  in  the  main,  and  she  would 
not  have  hurt  Clara  as  she  did  had  she  not  been  wild  with  an 
excitement  for  which  there  seemed  no  cause.  She  was  heed- 
less, to  be  sure ;  and  her  temper  —  well,  she  had  red  hair. 

Only  three  days  later,  early  in  the  morning,  we  see  them 
all  at  the  depot,  and  comfortably  seated  in  the  cars  —  Mrs. 
Wardor,  Clara,  Barbara,  and  Daisy — with  Kickup  aboard  the 
train,  but  in  a  different  car — Kickup  being  only  an  Indian 
pony,  and  the  shaggiest  kind  of  one  at  that.  Miss  Barbara 
and  "her  maid,"  as  she  grandly  styled  the  moon-faced  Indian 
sometimes,  sat  behind  Mrs.  Wardor  and  Clara  —  Clara  and 
Barbara  each  sitting  nearest  the  window.  Clara  in  deepest 
black,  with  the  delicate  flush  on  her  face,  looked  the  most 
interesting  of  young  widows,  and  whenever  she  raised  her 
dove-like  eyes,  was  sure  to  encounter  the  gaze  of  the  many 
who  stood  outside.  Just  as  the  sharp  click  of  the  starting-bell 
rang  through  the  cars,  Clara,  looking  up,  caught  sight  of  a 
figure  that  caused  her  heart  to  beat  full  and  fast.  Yet  her  face 
grew  pale  as  she  noted  the  form  of  which  the  words  "an  ele- 
gantly attired  gentleman"  would,  perhaps,  give  the  best  idea. 

He  leaned  against  one  of  the  wooden  pillars  supporting  the 
depot  roof,  with  a  dejected,  melancholy  air.  Almost  involun- 
tarily Clara  leaned  forward,  but  sank  back  the  next  moment, 
her  face  ablaze,  her  lips  trembling.  The  impish  laugh  of  the 


LONE  LINDEN.  I/I 

Indian  girl  that  had  struck  her  so  unpleasantly  on  the  night 
of  her  return  from  San  Jose,  again  fell  on  her  ear,  and  Miss 
Barbara's  irrepressible  "te-he"  mingled  with  it.  Had  she 
then  betrayed  her  heart's  secret  to  these  two  foolish,  giggling 
things?  Her  cheeks  burned  with  mortification,  but  in  her 
heart  there  was  a  strange  gleam  of  happiness.  He  knew, 
then,  that  she  was  free ;  he  had  heard  of  her  leaving  the  city, 
and  chose  this  delicate  way  of  intimating  to  her  that  — . 
Ah  !  well ;  she  was  still  in  deepest  mourning,  and  must  not 
think  —  anything  —  for  a  while  yet,  at  least. 

Mrs.  Wardor,  her  mind  filled  with  doubts  and  misgivings 
as  to  whether  she  had  brought  just  the  things  she  wanted  for 
the  summer  in  San  Jose,  had  noticed  nothing  of  the  little 
episode,  but  catching  sight  of  Clara's  face  as  they  left  the  cars, 
she  exclaimed,  with  genuine  gladness  in  her  tone,  "Why, 
Clara,  I  know  this  summer  in  the  country  will  do  you  good ; 
your  eyes  are  bright  with  anticipation  !  " 

Christine  met  them  at  the  depot,  and  as  the  carriage  rolled 
smoothly  toward  their  new  home,  she  told  them  of  what  other 
arrangements  she  had  made  with  old  Mr.  Muldweber.  He 
owned  a  horse  of  venerable  age,  which  could  be  driven  by 
the  most  timid  lady,  and  the  old  gentleman  was  willing  that 
they  should  use  the  horse,  but,  as  of  the  garden,  so  he  wanted 
to  take  care  of  the  animal,  too.  This  was  cheerfully  agreed 
to,  and  when  she  went  on  to  say  that  she  had  hired  a  phaeton 
—  really  quite  a  stylish  affair  —  Miss  Barbara  almost  smothered 
her  with  kisses,  which  would  not  have  happened,  by  the  by, 
if  there  had  been  any  place  for  Christine  to  hide  in. 

At  the  gate  stood  Mr.  Muldweber.  "  What  a  funny  old 
man,"  laughed  Miss  Barbara.  "A  patriarch,"  said  Clara; 
but  Christine  declared,  with  more  than  her  usual  energy,  that 
no  one  should  say  anything  disrespectful  of  or  to  Mr.  Muld- 
weber in  her  presence. 

With  chivalrous  bearing  he  welcomed  Mrs.  Wardor  to  her 


J/2  OVERLAND    TALES. 

new  home,  and  his  address,  delivered  with  true  German 
earnestness,  would  have  checked  Miss  Barbara's  mirth,  even 
without  Christine's  warning ;  and  Christine  herself  could  only 
repeat,  as  she  kissed  Clara's  fair  head,  "  Der  Herr  segne 
Deinen  Einzug." 

Then  she  led  her  up-stairs,  where  she  had  two  rooms,  open- 
ing into  each  other,  fitted  up  for  Clara  and  herself,  with  win- 
dows reaching  to  the  floor  leading  to  the  balcony.  The  other 
window  in  Christine's  room  looked  toward  the  Coyote  Hills, 
the  corresponding  window  in  Clara's  room  disclosing  a  view 
of  the  Santa  Cruz  Mountains. 

"  Now  tell  me  what  you  have  on  your  mind,  little  one," 
she  said,  drawing  Clara  down  by  the  window,  and  looking 
off  toward  the  cool,  deep  shadows  of  the  redwoods  on  the 
mountain,  she  listened  to  blushing  Clara's  recital  of  the  morn- 
ing's occurrence,  while  she  hummed  softly  (ending  full  three 
notes  lower  than  she  had  commenced) : 

"  I  have  gazed  into  the  darkness  — 
Seeking  in  the  busy  crowd 
For  a  form  once  — " 

"  Perhaps  I  have  done  him  wrong  after  all,"  she  interrupted 
herself;  and  aloud  she  said,  cheerfully:  "The  name  of  this 
place  will  be  changed  before  we  leave  it,  I  know.  But  down 
there  is  Mr.  Muldweber ;  I  mean  to  ask  him  about  Lone  Lin- 
den, and  his  singular  fancy  for  that  tree."  She  knew  Clara 
would  be  happier  left  alone  to  dream  over  the  vision  of  the 
morning,  and  her  heart  really  went  out  in  sympathy  to  this 
lonely  old  man,  who  had  such  a  longing,  hungry  look  in  his 
eyes  as  he  stood  with  his  arm  thrown  around  the  lone  linden, 
his  other  hand  shading  his  eyes  while  he  peered  down  the 
road  toward  the  town. 

"  No  one  hastens  home  at  twilight, 
Waiting  for  my  hand  to  wave." 


LONE  LINDEN.  1/3 

Christine's  dreary  singing  would  hardly  have  enlivened  Mr. 
Muldweber's  spirits  if  he  had  heard  it ;  but  it  ceased  ere  she 
came  close  up  to  him.  With  his  usual  gallantry  the  old  man 
spread  his  handkerchief  on  the  grass  covering  the  broken 
mound  for  Christine  to  rest  on,  and  before  darkness  had 
spread  over  the  plain  and  crept  up  to  the  mountain-tops,  she 
knew  more  of  the  old  man's  history — which  was  the  history 
of  the  linden  tree  —  than  she  had  ever  expected  to  learn. 
He  had  learned  to  love  the  girl  during  the  few  days  that  the 
fitting-up  of  the  house  had  thrown  them  together ;  and  he 
could  speak  his  mother  tongue  to  her  —  he  never  would  have 
said  so  much  in  English. 

When  he  had  left  the  mining-school  at  Freiberg  in  the  Fa- 
therland to  come  to  the  great  America,  he  had  brought  with 
him  from  the  old  Edelhof,  where  he  was  born  and  raised,  a 
handful  of  seed  from  the  linden  trees  that  formed  his  favorite 
avenue.  He  meant  to  build  up  just  such  a  place  in  America, 
and  he  carried  the  linden  seed  with  him  through  the  United 
States  and  then  into  Mexico,  where  his  knowledge  of  scientific 
mining  was  of  more  use  at  that  time.  Into  Mexico  he  carried 
his  bride,  a  young  German  girl,  whose  parents  had  died  on 
their  way  out  from  the  Fatherland,  and  who  died  herself  of 
Heimweh,  in  the  strange,  wild  land  to  which  her  husband 
brought  her.  But  she  left  him  a  son,  to  whom  he  gave  a  new 
mother,  a  dark-eyed  senorita  from  Durango.  Then  he  drifted 
on  toward  California,  before  it  was  California  to  us,  and  set- 
tled finally  in  the  Pueblo  of  San  Jose,  near  the  mission  of 
Santa  Clara,  after  it  had  ceased  to  be  a  mission.  Here  he 
built  the  old  adobe  —  a  house  quite  pretentious  for  those  times, 
and  he  threw  up  the  mound,  smooth  and  round,  and  discerni- 
ble at  some  distance,  and  planted  the  linden  seed  he  had  so 
carefully  hoarded.  But  he  did  not  sow  the  seed  broadcast ; 
it  was  a  tree  for  every  member  of  the  family  —  no  more.  As 
the  senorita  from  Durango  had  presented  him  with  quite  a 
15* 


1/4  OVERLAND    TALES. 

little  herd  of  Muldwebers,  however,  he  had  begun  to  enter- 
tain hopes  of  growing  something  of  a  forest  in  the  valley, 
when  the  dark  eyes  of  the  senorita  were  closed  one  dread 
night,  and  never  opened  again  to  the  light  of  this  world. 

The  wealth  she  had  brought  him  had  weighed  but  little  in 
her  husband's  estimation  ;  he  had  learned  to  admire  her  good- 
ness of  heart  and  nobility  of  character.  It  was  a  heavy  blow; 
but,  strange  to  say,  his  heart  almost  turned  from  her  children 
at  that  time  and  clung  again  to  the  child  of  his  first  love,  the 
German  girl  who  had  died  of  being  homesick.  He  grew  in- 
tolerant of  Spanish,  would  not  even  speak  English,  but  shut 
himself  up  with  his  oldest  son  to  teach  him  the  language  he 
had  neglected  for  so  long.  Then  died  the  two  sons  of  his 
Spanish  wife,  and,  though  he  mourned  their  loss,  he  drew 
still  closer  to  his  first-born. 

But  he  had  conceived  the  singular  fancy  that  the  spirit  of 
his  dead  could  not  rest  while  their  trees  lived ;  and  he  cut 
them  down,  one  by  one,  with  his  own  trembling  hands,  and, 
weeping,  made  a  fire  of  their  straight  trunks  and  graceful 
branches,  and  buried  the  ashes  deep  in  the  earth.  It  was 
about  this  time  that  his  German  friends,  of  whom  there  were 
now  quite  a  number  in  San  Jose,  began  to  whisper  among 
themselves  that  Mr.  Muldweber  was  getting  very  queer  — 
eccentric,  in  fact  —  if  not  worse  than  eccentric.  His  son, 
among  the  first  pupils  of  Santa  Clara  College,  was  brought 
home,  and  pursued  his  studies  as  mining  engineer  under  the 
guidance  of  his  father,  whose  intellect  and  mental  equilibrium 
seemed  perfectly  restored,  if  they  had  ever  been  wavering. 

Then  death  ruthlessly  deprived  him  of  the  last  remaining 
child  of  the  Spanish  woman —  a  daughter  with  eyes  as  dark 
as  her  mother's,  and  cherry  lips  and  dimpled  cheeks ;  and  he 
turned  from  his  first-born  and  only  child  now,  shunning  and 
avoiding  him,  as  he  had  neglected  all  his  other  children  at 
one  time.  The  boy,  or  rather  young  man  —  for  he  had  passed 


LONE  LINDEN.  1/5 

the  age  of  twenty-one  —  bore  his  father's  whim  like  the  sensi- 
ble fellow  he  was,  understanding  well  the  grief,  perhaps  self- 
reproach,  that  was  preying  on  his  parent's  heart;  and  they 
lived  on,  apart,  though  under  the  same  roof.  When  he  could 
no  longer  bear  his  father's  coldness,  amounting  almost  to  aver- 
sion, he  left  home,  hoping  that  absence  would  work  a  change. 
No  letter  was  ever  returned  for  the  kindly-meant  missives  sent 
by  him,  and  when  the  thought  of  his  father's  growing  age 
and  loneliness  overcame  his  pride,  and  he  returned,  he  found 
the  homestead  let  to  strangers,  and  his  father  established  in 
his  little  hut,  more  unreasonable  than  ever. 

He  tried  by  kindness  to  conquer  the  old  man's  injustice ; 
but  one  day  he  spoke  such  hard,  cruel  words  to  his  son,  that 
pride  and  manhood  rebelled  against  the  indignity,  and  he  left 
the  old  homestead  forever,  he  said,  vowing  to  live,  under  a 
strange  name,  "  where  his  father  should  never  hear  of  him 
again,  living  or  dead." 

A  shiver  ran  through  the  old  man's  frame ;  the  day  had 
gone  to  rest,  and  the  wind  blew  coldly  through  the  branches 
of  the  lone  tree  above  them ;  but  he  would  not  listen  to  the 
girl's  suggestion,  of  coming  into  the  house  with  her. 

"  No  !  "  he  said,  "  I  must  speak  of  the  wrong  I  did  to  the 
boy  right  here,  under  his  tree ;  he  is  not  dead,  I  know  —  the 
spirit  of  his  mother  comes  here  sometimes  and  tells  me  so. 
She  had  such  blue  eyes  —  like  her  that  is  with  you;  but  her 
heart  was  not  strong  like  yours,  either.  You  see,"  hs  con- 
tinued, "I  was  crazy  then  with  grief  and  loneliness,  and  self- 
reproaches,  and  I  said  to  him,  when  he  spoke  kindly  and 
cheerfully,  that  he  was  the  'laughing  heir,'  waiting  only  for 
me  to  follow  his  brothers,  in  order  to  lay  claim  to  the  riches 
that  I  hoped  would  be  a  curse  to  him.  Ah  !  I  see  his  white 
face  before  me  every  night,  and  hear  his  last  words  ringing 
through  my  head :  '  So  shall  they  be  a  curse  to  me  if  ever 
thou  seest  me  again.  Leave  thy  wealth  to  strangers,  old  man, 
thou  hast  no  longer  a  son.'  " 


i;6  OVERLAND    TALES, 

He  had  arisen  and  stood  erect,  unconsciously  giving  a  dra- 
matic representation.  The  hand  he  extended  had  grown  firm, 
but  his  face  gleamed  white  and  ghastly,  through  the  falling 
gloom.  Then  the  hand  sank  powerless  as  he  complained, 
"And  he  v/ill  keep  his  word  —  though  he  was  so  good  — my 
Rudolph." 

He  looked  up  in  sudden  astonishment;  Christine  had  laid 
her  hand  on  his  shoulder  and  gazed  eagerly  into  his  face. 
"Rudolph,"  she  repeated,  and  her  hands  wrung  wildly  a  mo- 
ment, dropped  by  her  side  in  a  kind  of  quiet  despair.  But 
the  old  man  hardly  noticed  her.  He  stood  on  the  mound 
again,  his  form  bent  forward,  as  if  to  catch  the  first  glimpse 
of  any  who  might  be  coming  up  the  road,  and  he  shook  his 
head  slowly -as  he  muttered  to  himself,  "  Er  kommt  nicht,  er 
kommt  noch  immer  nicht."  Christine  held  out  her  hand  to 
him.  "  Come,  let  me  lead  you,"  she  said;  but  the  old  man 
did  not  understand  all  the  words  meant. 

Late  at  night,  sitting  by  the  open  window,  from  where  she 
could  see  his  domicile,  she  caught  herself  humming, 

"  'T  is  said  that  absence  conquers  love, 
But,  oh!  believe  it  not." 

And  she  stopped.  She  was  thinking  of  Rudolph.  Yes, 
but  she  had  fancied  at  first  that  she  was  "singing  out  of  his 
father's  heart,"  not  her  own.  Poor  Rudolph!  Now  she 
knew  what  had  exiled  him  from  his  father's  home,  and  she, 
alas !  had  driven  him  from  the  new  home  he  had  meant  to 
build  for  himself.  And  she  had  thought  herself  right.  A 
bankrupt  suicide's  daughter,  how  could  she,  a  German,  with 
all  the  deep  religious  prejudices  of  that  people  burnt  into  her 
soul,  dream  of  becoming  anything  more  than  a  friend  to  the 
man  she  honored  above  all  others  ? 

People  said  she  had  led  him  on,  had  jilted  him,  and  he  had 
left  the  country.  Could  she  recall  him?  And  how?  Yet 


LONE  LINDEN.  177 

she  could  not  leave  this  lonely  old  man  to  die,  as  he  was 
surely  dying,  of  the  remorse  in  his  heart  and  the  bitter  regrets 
for  his  injustice  to  his  son. 

No  one,  coming  upon  the  family  at  the  Lone  Linden  the 
very  day  after  their  advent  to  the  place,  would  have  suspected 
them  of  being  strangers  there.  It  was  home  to  them  at  once. 
The  garden,  with  its  "two  ornamental  palms,"  as  Christine 
called  them,  its  wealth  of  flowers  and  sparkling  fountain,  lay 
all  day  in  the  laughing  sunshine,  and  the  beams  that  crept  in 
through  the  bay-window  of  the  sitting-room  played  hide-and- 
seek  amid  the  ivy  trailing  its  glossy  leaves  across  the  opposite 
wall.  It  was  here  that  Christine's  piano  stood,  and  as  Miss 
Barbara  always  sought  the  more  gayly-furnished  parlor  as 
soon  as  her  music-lesson  was  ended,  so  Clara  learned  to  de- 
spise that  apartment,  and  spend  much  of  her  time  in  this  room. 

Toward  sunset,  when  shadows  grew  heavier,  and  the  even- 
ing breeze  shook  the  foliage,  the  broken  mound  with  its  single 
tree  had  always  a  dreary  look  about  it,  and  even  Clara  was 
moved  into  saying,  "If  Mr.  Muldweber  should  die,  I  would 
not  dare  come  to  this  tree  in  the  evening  sun  —  it  would  be 
haunted,  I  know.  I  should  see  the  old  gentleman  or  his 
wraith  standing  there  with  his  arm  around  the  tree,  and  his 
other  hand  shading  his  eye.  How  lonely  he  looks;  is  he 
waiting  for  any  one,  I  wonder?" 

"Poor  old  man,"  said  Christine,  evasively,  and  she  repeated, 

"  No  one  hastens  home  at  twilight, 
Waiting  for  my  hand  to  wave." 

"  Stop,  or  I  shall  get  the  blues,  too."  Clara  raised  her 
hands  to  her  ears  in  comical  despair,  and  Christine  laughed 
good-naturedly  at  the  effect  of  her  singing. 

So  the  pleasant,  sunshiny  days  passed  on,  with  no  event 
more  stirring  than  an  occasional  letter  from  Miss  Barbara's 
father  to  break  the  monotony  of  life. 
M 


i;8  OVERLAND    TALES. 

It  was  Mr.  Farnsworth's  desire  that  Miss  Barbara  should  be 
treated  and  looked  upon  as  a  child,  and  it  would  have  glad- 
dened his  heart  could  he  have  seen  her,  in  the  cool  of  the 
morning  or  late  in  the  afternoon,  with  Snowball  and  Kickup 
in  the  enclosed  lot  called  the  Meadow,  behind  the  house. 
Whether  it  had  ever  been  the  intention  of  Mr.  Farnsworth  to 
have  Miss  Barbara  use  the  four-footed  thing  called  Kickup 
as  a  saddle-horse  is  not  known ;  it  is  a  matter  of  doubt, 
however,  whether  any  one  had  ever  been  on  its  back  long 
enough  to  discover  what  was  its  best  gait.  To  be  sure,  Miss 
Barbara  made  it  a  point  to  require  her  "maid"  to  "ride 
around  the  ring;  "  and  she  would  urge  the  pony  close  up  to 
the  fence  for  this  purpose,  assist  Daisy  to  mount,  and  then 
give  a  jump  to  get  out  of  reach  of  Kickup's  heels,  for  he  had 
never  been  known  to  have  more  than  two  feet  on  the  ground 
when  any  one  was  on  his  back ;  indeed,  as  a  general  thing,  he 
never  touched  the  ground  again  till  his  burden  lay  there  too. 
There  was  no  more  danger  of  injuring  Snowball's  limbs  than 
the  pony's,  and  as  they  were  taken  both  from  the  same  tribe, 
back  in  Arizona  somewhere,  it  is  to  be  presumed  that  they 
knew  each  other.  But  Miss  Barbara  was  neither  cruel  nor  a 
coward.  She  never  failed  to  reach  Kickup's  back,  and  from 
there  the  ground  again,  sometime  during  the  day's  perform- 
ance, to  Snowball's  unbounded  delight ;  and  at  night  she 
always  complained  to  Mrs.  Wardor  that  "  her  pony  was  n't 
fairly  broken  yet,"  "Which  is  not  so  surprising  as  that  your 
bones  are  unbroken  yet,"  Christine  would  say  sometimes; 
for  which  Miss  Barbara  would  give  her  a  supercilious  look 
out  of  her  wide-open  eyes,  as  though  to  say :  "  What  do  you 
know  about  it?  Your  father  was  never  an  army  contractor." 

About  this  time  Mr.  Farnsworth,  in  his  letter  to  Mrs.  War- 
dor,  commenced  to  promise  a  visit  he  intended  making  them 
before  the  summer  was  over ;  and  Mrs.  Wardor  commenced 
saying  to  Barbara,  when  she  proved  particularly  unmanage- 


LONE  LINDEN.  1/9 

able,  "  Do  try  to  behave  like  a  lady,  so  that  your  father  may 
see  you  are  no  longer  a  child."  And  the  suggestion  always 
had  the  desired  effect  for  the  time  being;  but  the  sight  of 
Snowball  driving  Kickup  into  the  meadow  would  as  regu- 
larly upset  all  her  good  intentions. 

One  day  Christine  came  into  Clara's  room,  with  a  troubled 
look  on  her  face.  "What  is  it?"  asked  Clara;  "is  your 
aged  protege  more  depressed  than  usual  this  morning  ?  Has 
he  refused  to  enjoy  his  long  pipe,  or  has  he  regaled  you  with 
a  longer  account  than  usual  of  his  son  —  Hans,  I  think,  you 
said  his  name  was?" 

Christine  laughed  in  spite  of  herself.  Clara  had  heard 
something  of  Mr.  Muldweber's  trouble  with  his  son,  and  took 
it  for  granted  that  Christine  knew  all  about  it,  though  she  had 
not  the  remotest  idea  of  how  deeply  she  was  interested  ;  and 
one  of  Clara's  fancies  was  that  Mr.  Muldweber's  son  was  a 
tow-headed  youth,  and  his  name  was  Hans. 

"  Mrs.  Wardor  has  had  another  letter  from  Mr.  Farns- 
worth,"  said  Christine. 

"Again  threatening  a  visit?  But  why  should  that  make 
you  look  so  serious?  Are  you  thinking  of  his  displeasure  at 
not  finding  his  Barbara  an  Arabella  Goddard?  " 

"Thank  God,  I  never  held  out  that  prospect  to  him. 
No — "  she  continued,  absently;  "I  don't  like  his  letters, 
and  I  fear  Mrs.  Wardor  misunderstands  him  —  misunder- 
stands him  entirely.  He  inquires  very  particularly  for  Lady 
Clare  in  his  letters,  too." 

"And  not  for  you?  Ah  !  then  the  cat 's  out  of  the  bag," 
she  laughed  ;  "  you  are  jealous  of  me  again." 

"The  vanity  of  some  people — "  Christine  joined  in  the 
laugh ;  but  the  troubled  look  returned  to  her  face  as  she  went 
on.  "  That  poor  old  man  troubles  me  too ;  he  is  failing  fast, 
and  his  son  must  come  soon,  or  I  fear  he  will  never  see  him 
again." 


ISO  OVERLAND    TALES. 

"Then  why  not  send  for  him?"  asked  Clara,  innocently; 
"  or  does  he  not  know  where  to  find  him?  " 

"  No,"  answered  Christine,  savagely,  after  a  moment's  hesi- 
tation. 

"Poor  old  man,"  sighed  Clara;  and  she  was  careful  after 
this  to  meet  the  forlorn  figure  wandering  restlessly  through 
the  grounds  with  all  the  sweet  consideration  it  was  her  nature 
to  show  those  who  were  in  pain  or  trouble. 

Still  the  old  man  never-  spoke  to  her  of  his  Rudolph  as  he 
did  to  Christine ;  it  was  to  the  brave-hearted  German  girl  he 
poured  out  his  long  pent-up  complaints  and  lamentations ;  it 
was  only  to  her  he  revealed  how  the  yearning  for  his  first-born 
was  eating  his  heart  away.  Often  she  was  on  the  point  of 
telling  him  all ;  he  would  say  then,  she  thought,  that  she  had 
acted  quite  correctly;  would  commend  her  for  not  having 
fastened  herself  with  her  accursed  name  upon  a  blameless 
man,  with  fame  and  fortune  before  him.  But  he  would  still 
demand  at  her  hands  his  son  —  his  son  whom  she,  more  than 
himself,  had  made  an  exile  and  a  wanderer. 

So  the  day  passed  on,  and  the  cloud  on  the  horizon  of 
Lone  Linden  grew  darker  and  "heavier ;  but  no  one  saw  it 
gathering  save  Christine.  Instinctively  she  felt  that  their  fair 
Paradise  would  be  destroyed  when  the  storm  should  burst,  but 
she  knew  not  how  to  divert  the  threatened  deluge. 

When  Clara  rushed  into  her  arms  one  day,  flushed  and 
breathless,  crying,  "  Oh,  I  knew  he  loved  me  — I  felt  that  he 
had  never  forgotten  me,"  her  heart  misgave  her  —  the  first  har- 
bingei  of  threatened  desolation  had  come.  With  difficulty 
she  prevailed  on  Clara  to  tell  her  calmly  what  had  occurred, 
and,  triumphant  and  happy,  she  explained  that  Mrs.  Wardor 
had  received  a  letter  from  Mr.  Farnsworth,  to  say  that  at  the 
end  of  the  week  he  should  visit  Lone  Linden,  bringing  with 
him  young  Mr.  Heraclit  Gupton,  nephew  of  General  Gupton, 
commanding  the  Department  of  the  Pacific. 


LONE  LINDEN.  l8l 

"Poor,  blind  Mrs.  Wardor,"  Clara  went  on  to  say,  "saw 
nothing  in  this  but  Mr.  Farnsworth's  desire  to  entertain  a 
young  gentleman  whose  uncle  had  it  in  his  power  to  award 
heavy  army  contracts ;  indeed,  how  could  she  know  that  Her- 
aclit  Gupton  was — was — " 

"  I  have  lived  and  loved  —  but  that  was  to-day; 
Go  bring  me  my  grave  clothes  to-morro\v." 

Christine  filled  up  the  pause,  her  voice  more  dreary  and 
inclined  to  "drop  into  the  cellar"  than  ever. 

Clara  looked  sobered  and  disappointed  at  this  unexpected 
comment,  but  attributed  it  to  a  sudden  recollection  of  Chris- 
tine's own  "what  might  have  been." 

"What  makes  you  so  sad,  Christine?  Is  Mr.  Muldweber 
really  sinking  as  fast  as  Mrs.  Wardor  thinks  ?  " 

"Sinking  fast,  child;  only  the  promise  that  his  son  shall 
be  brought  here,  if  among  the  living,  before  the  moon  fades, 
has  kept  the  old  man  alive." 

"Oh  !  Christine,  stay  and  be  glad  with  me  now,"  pleaded 
Clara,  "  the  time  for  mourning  will  come  soon  enough." 

But  Christine  could  not  be  made  to  rejoice,  and  all  the 
comment  she  made  on  the  other's  enthusiasm  was, 

"Oh!  Lady  Clara  Vere  de  Vere, 
You  put  strange  memories  in  my  head." 

And  Clara  flew  up-stairs  to  dream  over  this  broadening  flood 
of  sunshine  as  she  had  dreamed  over  the  first  faint  glinting. 

Had  not  Miss  Barbara  been  strangely  absent-minded  about 
this  time,  she  must  have  observed  how  the  color  in  Clara's 
cheek  grew  brighter,  and  her  eyes  held  a  deeper,  richer  light. 
And  if  any  expression  so  soft  as  a  "dreamy  look  "  could  ever 
have  stolen  into  this  positive  young  lady's  face,  one  would 
certainly  have  said  it  was  there  now,  though  it  vanished  like 
a  dream,  too,  whenever  the  Indian  girl's  impish  laugh  fell  on 
10 


182  OVERLAND    TALES. 

her  ears.  The  Indian  girl  herself  seemed  to  be  the  only  mem- 
ber of  the  family  that  was  not  more  or  less  distrait  after  the 
arrival  of  Mr.  Farnsworth's  last  letter,  for  even  Kickup  showed 
resentment  at  Miss  Barbara's  sudden  neglect  of  her  "  saddle 
horse."  It  was  only  natural  that  Mrs.  Wardor's  mind  should 
be  on  hospitable  cares  intent,  which  accounted  for  her  being 
oblivious  to  a  good  many  things  going  on  around  her. 

Saturday  had  been  named  by  Mr.  Farnsworth  as  the  day  on 
which  he  was  to  be  expected,  and  as  the  members  of  the 
family  arose  from  the  breakfast-table  that  morning,  Miss  Bar- 
bara astonished  Mrs.  Wardor  by  a  demand  for  her  mother's 
diamonds,  to  wear  in  honor  of  her  father's  coming. 

"Nonsense,  child,"  said  Mrs.  Wardor;  "what  would  the 
young  gentleman  coming  with  your  father  think,  to  see  a 
school-girl  loaded  down  with  diamonds?  Leave  them  in  my 
trunk ;  they  are  better  there.  You  might  take  a  notion  to 
have  a  romp  with  Kickup  before  taking  them  off,  and  they 
would  be  scattered  in  the  meadow." 

But  Miss  Barbara  was  determined  to  carry  her  point,  and 
broke  out  at  last,  the  rebellious  blood  rising  to  her  head,  "  I 
think  I  should  be  allowed  to  have  them,  at  any  rate ;  they  are 
my  diamonds,  and  father  promised  mother  that  they  should 
never  go  to  the  second  wife  if  he  did  marry  again." 

Mrs.  Wardor's  face  flushed  as  red  as  Barbara's,  but  Chris- 
tine's remained  unmoved,  calmly  marking  the  notes  on  a 
sheet  of  music,  while  Clara  gave  one  startled  look,  as  though 
she  had  just  made  a  discovery. 

Early  in  the  afternoon  Miss  Barbara  appeared  in  the  gar- 
den, where  the  hot  sun  blazed  down  on  the  fiery  hair,  the 
burning  cheeks,  and  the  flashing  jewels.  Her  eyes  were  hardly 
less  sparkling  than  her  diamonds,  and  as  she  threw  a  search- 
ing look  down  the  road  and  across  the  plain,  toward  the  town, 
they  seemed  to  glitter  and  glint  in  all  the  colors  of  the  rain- 
bow, just  like  the  stones  in  her  ears  and  at  her  throat.  Later, 


LONE  LINDEN.  183 

Clara  came  to  the  hall-door,  but  drew  back  when  Barbara 
came  to  join  her;  the  girl's  appearance  gave  her  a  "  scorched  " 
sensation,  she  said  to  Christine,  who  seemed  blind  to  the 
shadows  that  coming  events  were  casting  before  them.  At 
least  there  was  neither  glad  anticipation  nor  nervous  haste 
noticeable  in  her  as  in  the  rest,  but  her  heaft  was  very  heavy 
within  her.  Nevertheless  she  chided  Clara  for  having  dressed 
in  black  after  all,  when  she  had  firmly  decided  to  wear  white ; 
and  she  urged  her  back  into  the  garden,  for  she  knew  her  soul 
was  flying  across  the  road  to  the  city,  to  meet  the  form  she 
had  dreamed  of  day  and  night  since 'Mr.  Farnsworth's  an- 
nouncement. 

The  afternoon  breeze  was  gently  stirring  the  fragrant  flower 
heads  when  she  entered  the  garden  again  and  approached  Miss 
Barbara,  who  had  taken  up  her  station  by  the  low  picket  fence 
where  the  ground  rose  above  the  level  of  the  road.  Clara, 
too,  sent  out  a  wistful  look  across  the  plain.  Perhaps  she  had 
sighed,  for  she  felt  the  girl's  eyes  on  her,  and  as  she  looked 
up,  it  came  back  to  her  painfully  what  Barbara  had  once  said 
about  her  lack  of  color.  Could  her  heart  be  growing  envious 
of  the  girl  ?  She  did  not  ask  herself  the  question,  but  she  felt 
the  impulse  to  turn  and  leave  her,  and  would  have  done  so 
had  not  a  start  and  flutter  on  the  girl's  part  told  her  that  a 
vehicle  was  in  sight. 

She  did  not  look  down  the  road ;  she  would  not  betray  her 
feelings  to  the  merciless  eyes  of  this  red-headed  girl ;  but  her 
own  heart  beat  so  that  Barbara's  agitation  entirely  escaped 
her.  She  turned  toward  the  house.  She  must  press  her  hand 
to  her  heart  to  still  the  tumultuous  beating.  On  the  balcony 
stood  Christine,  an  affectionate  smile  lighting  up  the  dark 
features  as  she  threw  kisses  to  her  and  pointed  to  the  light 
carriage  now  quite  near  the  gate.  Then  the  color  came  back 
into  Clara's  face,  and,  with  a  sudden  joyous  impulse,  she 
fluttered  her  handkerchief  in  the  breeze,  and  laughed  like  a 


184  OVERLAND    TALES. 

glad  child  reaching  out  its  hand  for  a  long-coveted  toy.  Mrs. 
Wardor  came  to  the  door ;  the  carriage  stopped  at  the  gate 
that  minute,  and  two  gentlemen  sprang  to  the  ground. 

Just  how  it  all  took  place,  perhaps  none  of  them  ever  knew 
—  not  even  Christine,  who  had  remained  on  the  balcony,  a 
deeply-interested,  though  not  indelicate,  spectator.  They 
lingered  in  the  garden  a  little  while,  and  before  they  entered 
the  house  Mr.  Farnsworth  had  pompously  announced  to  Mrs. 
Wardor  that  this  was  the  young  gentleman  who  had  so  faith- 
fully and  persistently  paid  court  and  attention  to  his  daughter 
Barbara ;  that  he  had  ,at  last  been  touched  by  his  unwavering 
devotion,  and  had  decided  to  make  his  only  child  happy  — 
as  happy  as  he  himself  hoped  to  be  some  day  in  the  not  dis- 
tant future. 

"Bless  your  soul,"  he  added,  in  an  undertone,  to  Mrs. 
Wardor,  who  had  just  had  an  unaccountable  attack  of  heart- 
beating,  "if  I  had  known  that  Barbara's  'young  man'  was 
General  Gupton's  nephew,  she  should  have  had  him  six  months 
ago,  and  welcome."  He  was  interrupted  by  Barbara's  asking 
permission  to  go  driving  with  her  "young  man,"  and,  the 
father  consenting,  they  were  soon  speeding  over  the  road  in 
the  light  carriage  that  had  brought  the  gentlemen. 

At  her  window  up-stairs  sat  Christine,  her  hands  folded 
idly  in  her  lap,  her  eyes  absently  following  the  couple  in  the 
carriage.  But  on  the  bed,  in  her  own  room,  lay  Clara,  her 
head  buried  deep  in  the  pillows,  her  slender  hands  covering 
the  white  face,  sobbing  as  if  her  heart  would  break.  And 
through  the  half-open  door  came  the  saddening  chant  of 
Christine : 

"  I  have  just  been  learning  the  lesson  of  life, 
The  sad,  sad  lesson  of  loving." 

Could  the  words  but  have  penetrated  to  the  room  below, 
they  might  have  been  echoed  there  by  another.  Mr.  Farns- 


LONE  LINDEN.  l8$ 

worth  was  again  making  an  announcement  to  Mrs.  Wardor  — • 
though  in  a  manner  not  quite  so  pompous — indeed,  almost 
hesitating. 

"Yes,"  he  was  saying,  "my  daughter  cannot  blame  me, 
since  I  have  made  her  happy,  that  I  too  should  look  for  a 
suitable  companion.  When  I  say  suitable,  I  mean  one  better 
fitted  than  the  first  Mrs.  Farnsworth  to  my  —  ahem  ! — to  my 
• — more  advanced  mental  attainments.  I  have  for  some  time 
past  observed  the  —  ahem  !  —  sweet  disposition  and  —  ahem ! 
—  amiable  character  of  your  friend  and  protege  —  Clara. 
Good  gracious,  madam,  are  you  sick?  Can  I  do  anything 
for  you  ?  ' ' 

"  No,  thanks;  only  a  sudden  dizziness  that  sometimes  seizes 
me  in  warm  weather  ;"  and,  thanks  to  Mrs.  Wardor's  self-pos- 
session, it  was  over  directly.  As  Mr.  Farnsworth  took  it  for 
granted  that  it  was  quite  essential  for  a  fine  lady  to  have 
nerves,  and  even  fainting-fits,  he  saw  nothing  remarkable  in 
Mrs.  Wardor's  sudden  dizziness  and  pallor.  Then  she  said 
Clara  was  one  of  the  sweetest-tempered  women  she  had  ever 
met  with,  but  she  knew  nothing  of  the  state  of  her  heart  or 
affections ;  he  must  lay  the  case  before  the  lady  herself.  And 
here  she  suddenly  remembered  not  to  have  given  full  direc- 
tions for  supper  to  the  Chinaman  in  the  kitchen,  and  left  Mr. 
Farnsworth  to  his  own  meditations  in  the  parlor.  Then  the 
sun  went  down,  and  Christine,  paying  no  heed  to  the  sound 
of  carriage-wheels  approaching  —  thinking  the  happy  lovers 
had  returned — was  startlqd  by  the  sharp  ring  of  the  door-bell. 
She  sprang  to  her  feet ;  she  felt  that  the  bell  called  to  her,  and 
she  was  at  the  door  before  the  servant  could  reach  it.  A  tall, 
bearded  man  stood  before  her,  who,  taking  advantage  of  the 
girl's  being  utterly  disconcerted,  drew  her  quickly  to  his 
breast.  She  rested  there  only  a  moment. 

"  Oh,  Rudolph!  your  father,"  she  said,  with  a  tone  of  re- 
proach in  her  voice. 
16* 


186  OVERLAND    TALES. 

"Take  me  to  him,  Christine,"  and  Mrs.  Ward  or,  who  had 
drawn  her  head  back  discreetly  a  moment  before,  now  came 
fully  out  of  her  sitting-room  to  welcome  Rudolph  to  his  home. 

"All  the  afternoon  you  left  me  by  myself,"  said  Mr.  Muld- 
weber,  querulously,  as  Christine  softly  entered  his  room.  "  Ah ! 
if  my  boy  would  only  come,  he  would  never  let  his  old  father 
lie  here  alone,"  and  he  turned  his  head  to  the  wall  so  as  not 
to  look  at  Christine. 

"Forgive  me,"  she  said;  "but  poor  Clara  so  needed  me. 
And  I  have  brought  news  from  your  son  —  from  Rudolph. 
He  is  coming  soon  —  he  will  be  here  — ' ' 

"  He  is  here  now  !  "  cried  the  old  man,  opening  his  arms, 
but  turning  his  eyes  to  the  ceiling,  as  though  he  expected  his 
Rudolph  to  flutter  down  from  there  in  the  shape  of  a  seraph 
or  an  angel. 

A  few  hours  later  Mr.  Muldweber's  room,  which  had  seemed 
so  lonesome  in  the  afternoon,  was  filled  to  its  full  capacity. 
The  old  man  sat  in  his  easy-chair,  holding  one  hand  each  of 
Rudolph  and  Christine  in  his  own,  and  near  them  were  Mrs. 
Wardor  and  Clara.  Her  friend's  happiness  was  a  consolation 
to  her,  so  much  so  that  she  could  think,  without  breaking  into 
tears,  of  the  trio  in  the  parlor  of  the  other  house,  talking  over 
their  plans  for  the  future,  just  as  our  friends  were  doing  here. 

Mr.  Farnsworth  intended  going  back  to  the  city  on  the 
morrow,  heavily  laden  with  "  The  Basket  "(the  German  terra 
for  the  mitten  or  the  sack),  which  Clara  had  given  him. 

In  Mr.  Muldweber's  shanty  reigned  a  soft,  subdued  happi- 
ness, like  the  half-sad  light  of  the  moon  flooding  in  through 
the  window. 

"It  will  be  Lone  Linden  no  longer,"  the  old  man  said, 
"since  I  have  so  large  a  family.  See,  I  will  not  crowd  you 
in  the  big  house ;  I  will  stop  in  my  dear  little  hut.  There  will 
be  only  room  enough  in  the  other  house  for  Rudolph  and  his 
wife  and  her  two  sisters  "  (the  old  man  was  naturally  gallant), 


LONE  LINDEN.  l8/ 

"  whose  knight  I  will  be  till  some  one  worthier  and  better 
shall  fill  my  place.  And  the  red-headed  one  will  go  next 
month?"  he  asked,  turning  to  Mrs.  Wardor.  With  a  sigh 
of  relief  he  continued,  "  And  the  black  Kobold  will  go  with 
her  I  hope,  and  the  four-footed  one  too.  How  they  used  to 
break  my  beautiful  white  lilies  and  throw  them  to  that  animal. 
Ah  !  you  cannot  make  me  believe  anything  —  if  that  horse 
were  not  possessed  by  the  evil  one  he  never  could  have  eaten 
those  flowers — stem  and  all."  They  could  not  help  laughing, 
and  parted  almost  merrily. 

But  out  in  the  garden,  in  the  tender  white  moonlight,  Ru- 
dolph drew  Christine  close  to  his  heart  and  looked  search- 
ingly  into  her  eyes. 

"Are  you  at  peace  with  yourself  now,  Christine,  and  satis- 
fied to  be  mine  —  satisfied  and  happy  ?  Then  why  are  those 
tears  in  your  eyes  ?  ' ' 

She  struggled  out  of  his  arms,  and  passing  her  hand  over 
her  eyes,  she  fell  irresistibly  into  her  old  habit,  and  sang,  soft 
and  low, 

"  Mag  auch  im  Aug'  die  ThrSne  stehn  — 
Das  macht  das  frohe  Wiedersehn." 


MANUEL  A. 

FOR  Mrs.  Kennerly"  was  more  lachrymose  than  usual 
to-day;  her  eyes  paler,  her  hair  more  faded.  Paul 
Kennerly,  the  keen-eyed,  robust  counterpart  and  hus- 
band of  the  lady,  was  measuring  the  room  with  impatient 
steps.  When  her  pale-blue  eyes  shed  tears  and  grew  paler, 
his  flashed  fire  and  grew  deeper  blue ;  when  her  light-yellow 
hair  hung  limp  and  loose  about  her  eyes,  his  darker,  heavier 
locks  rose  obstinately  from  his  forehead,  and  were  shaken 
back,  now  and  again,  as  a  lion  shakes  his  mane.  While  the 
profuse  tears  coursing  over  his  wife's  cheeks  seemed  to  bleach 
their  original  pink  into  vapid  whiteness,  his  own  flushed  hot 
and  red  with  the  quick  blood  mounting  into  them. 

Yet,  Mrs.  Kennerly,  of  whom  her  friends  spoke  only  with 
the  adjective  "poor"  prefixed,  was  not  a  martyr;  on  the 
contrary,  to  the  unprejudiced  observer,  the  great  tall  man, 
in  spite  of  flashing  eye  and  reddened  cheek,  appeared  much 
more  in  that  light  and  character. 

"Laura,  will  you  stop  crying  just  for  two  seconds,  and 
listen  to  what  I  have  to  say  ?  ' ' 

"  Oh,  my  poor  sister  !  my  poor  sister  !  Coming  home,  and 
unwelcome  in  her  own  dead  father's  house  !  unwelcome  to 
her  own  brother-in-law,  at  the  house  of  her  poor  dead  father 
—  oh!" 

Before  she  had  finished  her  lamentation,  Mr.  Kennerly  had 
left  the  room,  shutting  the  door  behind  him  with  a  crash,  and 
crossing  the  corridor  with  long,  heavy  strides.  Then  his 
steps  resounded  on  the  veranda,  where  the  June  sun  threw 

1 88 


MANUEL  A.  189 

deepening  shadows  of  the  old  locusts  that  stood  sentinel  in 
a  half  circle  on  the  lawn.  Pacing  back  and  forth,  with  knit 
brows  and  downcast  eyes,  the  wooing  beauties  of  the  summer 
day  were  lost  on  him,  as  they  were  without  charm  or  joy  to 
the  weak-minded  woman  fretting  and  complaining  in  her 
darkened  room  up-stairs. 

Unnoticed  by  him  was  the  short  sweet  grass  on  the  lawn, 
and  the  rows  of  blossoming  lilacs  and  budding  roses  that 
hedged  it  in  on  either  side,  down  to  the  road  ;  unheeded  on 
his  ear  fell  the  gentle  murmuring  of  the  wind  in  the  cluster  of 
poplar,  beech,  and  elm  that  stood  bowing  and  swaying  by 
the  large  old  gate.  Was  it  possible  that  he  had  ever  pushed 
through  its  portals  (a  wanderer  returned  to  his  early  home), 
an  expectant  bridegroom,  to  meet  the  meek -eyed  bride  whose 
phantom  only  seemed  now  to  haunt  the  old-fashioned,  hospi- 
table house  ?  Again  Paul  Kennerly  threw  back  the  hair  from 
his  forehead  with  the  lion -like  motion  that  had  grown  more 
abrupt  and  hasty  year  after  year.  Then  the  footsteps  on  the 
veranda  ceased,  and  soon  soft,  full  chords,  such  as  a  mas- 
ter-hand only  could  strike  on  the  piano,  sounded  through 
the  wide  corridor,  and  floated  up  to  the  ears  of  the  self- 
willed  invalid.  Louder  and  stronger  grew  the  strains;  and 
the  woman,  in  her  feebleness,  cowered  on  her  lounge  up- 
stairs, and  complained  fretfully,  "Now  he  storms  again!" 
while  the  man  below  seemed  to  have  forgotten  everything ; 
his  own  existence,  perhaps  —  the  existence  of  the  woman, 
surely. 

Yet  she  was  present  to  the  waking  dreams  he  dreamed  of 
his  early  youth  —  they  could  not  be  dreamed  without  her. 
She  had  been  his  playmate,  his  protege;  as  her  younger, 
stronger  sister  had  been  his  natural  antagonist  and  aversion. 
The  father  had  been  his  guardian.  And  when  Paul  went  as 
sutler  and  trader  to  New  Mexico,  just  as  Laura  was  budding 
into  girlhood,  it  was  tacitly  understood  that  on  his  return  he 


1 90  OVERLAND    TALES. 

would  claim  her  as  his  betrothed.  Years  passed,  and  when 
old  Mr.  Taylor  felt  his  end  approaching,  he  begged  Paul  to 
return,  and  be  to  his  two  daughters  the  protector  that  he  had 
been  to  Paul's  helpless  childhood.  Soon  after  Laura's  mar- 
riage, Mr.  Taylor  died,  firm  in  the  belief  that  he  had  made 
a  happy  man  of  his  favorite,  Paul. 

Before  the  mourning  year  was  over,  a  schoolmate  of  Paul's, 
an  army  officer,  some  years  his  senior,  came  to  spend  a 
month's  furlough  at  the  old  Taylor  mansion.  When  he  left, 
he  was  the  willing  slave  and  avowed  suitor  of  Regina,  the 
queenly  younger  sister  of  Laura.  If  there,  were  no  hearty 
congratulations  from  Paul's  side,  I  doubt  that  either  Colonel 
Douglass,  in  his  happiness,  or  Laura,  in  her  self-absorption, 
felt  the  withholding  of  his  kind  wishes ;  and  Regina  cared 
very  little  either  for  his  favor  or  his  disapproval. 

Even  before  they  were  married,  Regina  knew  that  after  a 
few  short  weeks  spent  in  the  home-like,  elegant  quarters  at 
the  arsenal,  they  must  leave  the  ease  and  luxuries  of  civiliza- 
tion for  the  wilds  of  some  frontier  country.  But  Regina  was 
content  to  reign  over  the  limited  number  of  hearts  to  be 
found  in  a  frontier's  camp,  as  she  had  reigned  over  her  train 
of  admirers  in  the  ball-room  and  at  the  watering-places ;  and, 
to  the  delight  of  her  husband,  she  uttered  no  word  of  com- 
plaint when  an  order  from  the  War  Department  sent  them  to 
an  adobe-built  fort  on  the  Rio  Pecos,  in  the  most  desolate 
part  of  all  New  Mexico. 

"Now,  I  should  like  to  go  with  you,  Hal,"  had  said  his 
brother-in-law,  when  he  read  him  the  order ;  and  he  raised 
his  head  and  flung  back  his  hair,  as  though  he  felt  the  wild, 
free  wind  of  the  Plains  tossing  it. 

Paul  rode  back  from  the  arsenal  slowly  that  evening ;  and 
the  nearer  home  he  came,  the  lower  drooped  his  head,  the 
darker  grew  his  brow.  At  home  he  paced  the  floor  uneasily, 
paying  little  heed  to  the  feeble  whimpering  of  .his  wife,  who 


MANUEL  A.  Ipl 

had  been  frittering  her  life  away  between  camphor-bottles  and 
sentimental  novels  since  Regina  had  left  the  house. 

The  drawing-room,  where  the  piano  stood,  and  where  the 
windows  opened  out  on  the  veranda  and  the  lawn,  was  his 
harbor  this  night,  as  often  when  either  his  own  thoughts  or 
the  selfish  complainings  of  his  wife  drove  him  distractedly 
about  the  house.  But  this  night  there  sounded  a  single  soft 
strain  through  his  "storming," — as  his  wife  called  it, —  and 
the  strain  grew  wilder  and  sweeter,  till  suddenly  lost,  as  the 
note  of  some  clear-voiced,  frightened  bird  is  lost  in  the  howl- 
ing of  the  midnight  storm. 

Then  had  come  days  of  calm,  during  which  the  piano  re- 
mained closed,  and  he  sat  meekly  under  the  drivelling  talk 
of  his  wife,  and  in  the  close,  dark  atmosphere  which  alone, 
she  insisted,  suited  the  delicate  complexion  of  her  face  and 
of  her  mind. 

After  that,  an  occasional  letter  from  his  brother-in-law,  now 
at  his  station  on  the  Rio  Pecos,  or  an  extra  twist  of  the  cord 
matrimonial,  which,  since  the  day  of  his  marriage,  seemed 
literally  to  encircle  his  neck,  would  set  the  lion  to  fuming  in 
his  cage ;  and,  with  the  toss  of  his  hair  from  the  forehead, 
would  commence  the  wandering  through  the  house  which 
always  ended  with  "storming"  the  piano. 

But  the  days  are  passing  while  we  travel  back  into  the  past ; 
and  one,  not  far  distant,  brings  Regina,  the  unwelcome.  Be- 
fore she  had  been  in^the  house  many  days,  she  knew  from  her 
sister's  rambling  talk  what  Paul  had  said  of  her  coming  be- 
fore she  came  —  knew  that  he  did  not  believe  what  the 
colonel  had  written  about  the  disastrous  effects  of  the  New 
Mexican  climate  on  his  wife's  health  ;  but  believed,  rather, 
the  rumors  that  had  come  to  him  from  all  sides,  each  vary- 
ing a  little  from  the  rest  in  detail,  but  all  agreeing  in  the 
main.  Regina's  marble  face,  and  nervous,  transparent  fin- 
gers, might  have  confirmed  the  theory  of  failing  health ;  but 


Ip2  OVERLAND    TALES. 

there  was  something  in  the  momentary  flash  of  her  dark  eyes, 
as  she  listened  to  her  sister's  quavering  voice,  that  told  of 
energy  or  despair,  such  as  woman  gains  and  gathers  only 
from  a  sudden  calling  forth  of  all  her  passions  and  powers  for 
the  defence  of  her  life,  her  honor,  or  position,  as  the  case 
may  be.  It  may  have  been  only  once,  in  the  long  past,  that 
this  power  was  called  out ;  but,  like  the  heat-lightning  at  the 
close  of  a  hot,  murky  day,  it  throws  baleful  gleams  on  the 
cloud-darkened  horizon  of  her  life  forever  after. 

"  My  sternly-virtuous  moral  brother-in-law,"  Regina  said 
softly  to  herself,  seated  on  a  low  stool  in  the  room  where  her 
cradle  had  stood,  "  would  fain  drive  me  from  my  own  father's 
house,  for  a  fancied  injury  to  the  fair  name  of  the  Ken- 
nerly-Taylor  family.  Ah,  well !  the  end  of  all  days  has  not 
come  yet." 

Her  head  sank  on  her  bosom,  as  she  sat  watching  the  shad- 
ows of  the  tree-clump  by  the  gate,  growing  longer  and  deeper 
in  the  fading  light  of  the  western  sun ;  and  a  tear  stole  into 
her  eye  and  trickled  slowly  down  her  pure  white  cheek.  Her 
sister,  creeping  up  to  her,  and  looking  into  her  face  with 
what  affection  she  was  capable  of,  shed  more  of  her  easy- 
coming  tears. 

"  I  told  him  they  were  slandering  you.  Papa  always  said 
you  were  too  proud  to  do  a  wrong  'and  not  acknowledge  it. 
And  Paul  was  always  hard  on  you,  I  know;  and  it 's  all  a  lie 
and  slander ;  for  even  if  you  were  not  ray  sister,  I  could  tell, 
as  any  one  could,  from  your  face,  that  you  are  good  and  with- 
out sin.  I  know  from  the  stories  I  have  read  —  they  all  have 
just  such  pale,  faultless  faces  when  they're  persecuted;  and 
afterwards  the  misunderstanding  is  cleared  up,  and  they  get 
married.  But  then,  you  are  married."  She  had  gotten  into 
deep  water  now ;  and  thinking,  probably,  that  her  younger, 
cleverer  sister  would  solve  this  problem  as  she  had  so  many 
others,  Laura  picked  up  her  camphor-bottle  and  returned  to 


MANUELA.  193 

her  own  room.  Regina  remained,  her  "pale,  faultless  face  " 
turned  to  the  dying  light,  a  pensive,  half-pained,  half-sad  ex- 
pression on  her  lips  and  in  her  eye,  looking  almost  like  a 
saint  striving  to  forgive  and 'bless  her  traducers. 

Yet  the  woman  was  not  without  sin ;  though  how  much  was 
to  be  laid  at  her  door  none  could  tell. 

Out  in  New  Mexico,  the  rumor  ran,  at  the  lonely  adobe- 
built  post  on  the  Rio  Pecos,  where  her  husband,  the  colonel, 
was  stationed,  there  was  also  a  post  surgeon,  a  young,  hand- 
some man,  of  fascinating  manners,  of  unquestioned  skill  and 
bravery,  and  born  of  an  Italian  mother,  from  whom  he  had 
inherited  passion,  temper,  and  disposition,  together  with 
Southern  eyes  and  curly,  silken  hair.  His  courage  had  proba- 
bly come  from  his  American  father ;  none  but  such  could  have 
a  son  who,  in  his  dare-devil  bravery,  would  go  so  far  as  to 
capture  and  tame  a  young  panther,  and  chain  him  outside  his 
door,  to  act  as  watch-dog  and  protector.  And  so  great  was 
the  love  of  this  animal  for  his  master,  that  he  was  known  to 
leap  and  roar  for  joy  when  seeing  him  approach  after  an 
absence  from  home. 

Of  course,  Regina  was  expected  to  visit  and  admire  the 
panther  as  a  "natural  curiosity;  "  and  her  hand,  too,  it  was 
said,  the  beast  would  lick  with  every  sign  of  affection  and 
submission.  Rumor  said,  that  in  the  dead  of  night,  when  no 
one  else  could  approach  the  doctor's  quarters  within  a  hun- 
dred yards,  she  could  pass  by  and  into  the  doctor's  rooms 
without  hindrance  or  opposition  from  Royal,  the  panther. 
And,  moreover,  rumor  went  on  to  say,  that  whenever  the 
colonel  was  away  on  duty,  looking  after  those  troublesome 
Navajoes  and  uncertain  Apaches,  Regina's  white  robe  was 
frequently  seen  flitting  past  the  uncanny  keeper  of  the  doctor's 
door. 

But  there  came  a  day  —  a  night,  rather  —  when  Royal,  after 
a  short  but  terrible  conflict  with  a  midnight  invader,  lay  dead 
17  N 


Ip4  OVERLAND    TALES. 

on  his  master's  doorsteps,  and  over  the  body  strode  the  in- 
vader into  the  presence  of  the  young  doctor,  who,  with  an 
almost  superhuman  effort,  tried  to  shield  the  queenly,  white- 
robed  form  that  fell  prone  to  the  floor.  To  be  sure,  he  re- 
ceived a  bullet  in  his  temple ;  and  the  dark,  silken  curls  were 
dank  and  stiff  with  gore  when  the  sun  lighted  up  the  low 
adobe  room  next  morning.  However,  he  had  saved  her  life  ; 
for  the  colonel  became  cool  when  he  saw  the  destroyer  of 
his  peace  and  honor  lying  dead  at  his  feet. 

There  was  no  public  trial  —  not  even  a  court-martial.  The 
colonel  had  killed  the  doctor  in  a  duel ;  but  nobody  demanded 
a  record  of  the  event,  and  the  reprimand  he  received  was  not 
by  sentence.  But  he  was  ordered*  to  Fort  Marcy,  near  Santa 
Fe.  The  colonel  had  borne  off  a  cut  across  the  forehead, 
extending  upward  till  under  the  hair,  in  one  of  the  pitched 
battles  with  the  Indians ;  and  he  was  known  to  suffer  from 
headache  and  irritation  of  the  wound  to  such  a  degree,  at 
times,  that  over-excitement,  from  anger  or  other  cause,  made 
him  almost  crazy.  He  was  an  old,  valiant,  and  valued  offi- 
cer ;  and  the  War  Department,  not  supposed  to  know  any 
uninvestigated  matter,  would  excuse  many  things  in  such  a 
one,  even  though  it  could  not  approve  them. 

Then  it  was  that  the  colonel's  wife  had  returned  to  the 
States  "for  her  health,"  — as  her  husband  was  particular  to 
write  to  his  brother  officers  stationed  at  the  barracks  and 
arsenal  near  to  the  western  city  where  his  wife's  home  was. 

Who  can  tell  how  rumor  travels?  When  Regina  made  her 
appearance  at  the  arsenal,  the  very  women  who  had  once  been 
proud  of  her  notice  seemed  hardly  to  remember  a  passing 
acquaintance  with  her;  and,  stung  to  the  qifick,  she  had 
barely  strength  to  control  her  face  and  hold  high  her  head 
till  the  door  of  her  carriage  had  closed  on  her.  She  laid 
back  her  head,  throbbing  and  aching,  yet  filled  with  a  thou- 
sand plans  for  regaining  her  position  and  punishing  those  who 
had  so  humbled  her. 


MANUEL  A.  195 

It  was  one  of  Paul's  restless  days ;  and  she  heard  him 
"storming"  on  the  piano  as  her  carriage  entered  the  gate- 
way. With  sudden  interest  she  raised  her  head,  while  her 
face  grew  animated  with  some  struggling  thought. 

When  night  had  set  in,  and  the  broad  hall-door  was  thrown 
open  to  admit  the  soft  breeze  and  the  tender  moonlight,  Re- 
gina, for  the  first  time  since  her  return  to  the  home  of  her 
childhood,  approached  the  piano  in  the  drawing-room  and 
ran  her  fingers  over  the  keys.  The  door  stood  open,  and 
from  her  seat  she  could  see  into  the  hall,  and  catch  a  glimpse 
of  Paul's  shadow  every  time  he  passed  the  hall-door  in  his 
walk  on  the  moonlit  veranda.  Not  a  muscle  of  her  face 
moved  as  she  continued  in  her  play,  striking  chords  and  run- 
ning roulades,  without  any  apparent  purpose  save  that  of 
touching  once  more  the  old  familiar  key-board.  Paul's 
shadow  flitted  by,  regularly  and  restlessly,  never  varying  an 
inch  in  his  distance  from  the  door  as  he  passed  it.  Suddenly 
the  chords  melted  into  a  melody  low  and  sweet,  yet  swelling 
almost  into  wildness  in  its  yearning,  longing  tenderness. 

Regina  listened  intently,  and  —  surely  Paul  could  not  have 
paused  suddenly  in  his  walk  on  the  veranda !  Directly  his 
footsteps  came  again,  halting  and  uncertain,  and  Regina 
repeated  the  air,  throwing  into  it  more  intensity,  even,  than 
at  first.  She  seemed  absorbed  in  her  playing,  though  she 
knew  full  well  when  Paul's  hesitating  footsteps  crossed  the 
threshold,  and  moved  nearer  the  drawing-room  entrance. 
When  he  stood  in  the  door,  she  looked  up,  as  though  unwill- 
ing to  be  disturbed  in  her  musical  meditations.  One  look  at 
the  deathly-pale  face,  above  which  the  dark  blonde  hair  rose 
like  a  lion's  mane,  assured  her  that  she  would  gain  —  had 
gained  —  her  end;  and  she  played  on,  as  though  forgetting 
his  presence  in  an  instant.  Presently,  a  hoarse,  unsteady 
voice  reached  her  ear : 

"Where  did  you  learn  that  air?  Who  taught  you  the 
song  ? ' ' 


196  OVERLAND    TALES. 

She  looked  up  unconcernedly. 

"That  air?     Do  you  like  it ?" 

He  nodded  his  head  impatiently. 

"  Where  did  you  learn  it  ?     Who  taught  you?  " 

"That  song?     Oh,  I  learned  that  in  New  Mexico." 

He  looked  at  her  wildly  for  a  moment,  but  her  gaze 
was  so  steady  that  he  dropped  his  eyes  and  moved  slowly 
away. 

Late  in  the  night,  when  Regina  awoke  from  a  sleep  sweeter 
and  sounder  than  any  she  had  yet  enjoyed,  she  heard  Paul's 
steps  in  the  hall-way,  on  his  way  to  bed. 

"You  have  left  me  alone  all  night  again,"  complained  his 
wife,  when  he  entered  the  room ;  "  and  I  have  had  one  of  my 
nervous  spells." 

"You  keep  the  room  so  confoundedly  hot  and  full  of  cam- 
phor that  it  smothers  me  to  stay  here,"  was  the  crusty  reply. 

"Would  you  want  me  to  keep  the  windows  and  shutters 
open,  so  as  to  let  the  mosquitoes  come  in  and  devour  us?  " 

"Why  do  you  keep  the  light  burning  till  twelve  in  the 
night,  then  ?  ' ' 

"  But,  Paul,  I  can't  read  in  the  dark,  can  I?  And  I  want 
some  pastime,  I  am  sure,  so  sick  and  feeble  as  I  am,"  weeping 
for  very  pity  of  herself. 

"Throw  those  foolish  books  out  of  the  window;  the  cam- 
phor-bottle, too;  let  air  and  daylight  into  your  room,  and 
you'll  soon  get  well  and  strong,"  he  answered,  willing  to  be 
kind  and  anxious  to  hush  her  distracting  sobs. 

Regina,  in  her  room,  breathed  a  little  sigh  of  satisfaction  ; 
for  though  she  could  not  hear  the  conversation,  she  could 
guess  very  nearly  what  Paul's  reception  had  been  :  "  Ah  !  my 
clever  brother-in-law,  yours  is  not  a  bed  of  roses,  either;" 
and  with  this  comforting"  reflection  she  dropped  off  to 
sleep. 

Next  morning,  at  the  breakfast-table,  Regina  watched  with 


MANUEL  A.  197 

placid  interest  the  haggard  face  of  Paul,  and  the  furtive  looks 
he  threw  over  to  where  she  sat.  During  the  morning  his  wife 
was  attacked  with  sick  headache,  "  from  reading  those  trashy 
novels,"  he  said ;  and  by  night  he  was  wandering  through  the 
house  again,  groaning  in  very  anguish  of  spirit,  and  flying,  at 
last,  to  his  only  refuge,  the  piano.  Through  the  loud  clang- 
ing of  the  chords  there  breathed  a  strain,  now  and  then,  of 
the  song  Regina  had  played ;  but  in  a  moment  it  was  drowned 
by  the  louder  crashes,  which  almost  shook  the  house,  and 
seemed  the  outpouring  of  some  wild  spirit  in  its  abject  misery. 
Day  followed  day,  and  as  the  season  advanced,  and  autumn 
set  in,  with  stormy  days  and  long,  moonless  nights,  Paul  grew 
more  restless;  and  one  night,  when  he  had  wandered  through 
the  house  all  day  —  "as  though  driven  by  the  Fury  of  Re- 
morse," Regina  said  —  she  went,  unobserved,  into  the  draw- 
ing-room, from  where  soon  came  the  strains  of  the  song  that 
had  so  agitated  Paul.  Again  his  heavy  steps  approached  the 
door,  and,  as  he  entered  the  room,  Regina  said  to  herself, 
"  He  has  grown  ten  years  older  since  that  evening  last  sum- 
mer, and  he  is  ripe  for  my  purpose  now." 

"You  learned  that  song  in  New  Mexico?"  he  asked,  trying 
to  speak  in  his  usual  quiet  tones.  "  I  suppose  it  is  a  popular 
air  among  the  Mexicans  ?  " 

"  Not  a  common  one,  though  it  is  a  Spanish  song  ;  "  and 
she  softly  sang  the  refrain,  "  Ela — Manuela  /" 

Had  she  stabbed  him  to  the  heart  he  could  not  have  turned 
paler,  or  sprung  forward  quicker,  than  at  the  uttering  of  the 
words. 

"  She  taught  it  you  !     Tell  me  quick,  for  God's  sake  !  " 

He  had  clutched  her  arm,  and  was  shaking  her  without 
knowing  it. 

"Gently,  my  dear  brother-in-law,"  she  said,  sneeringly; 
and  he  shook  the  hair  back  from  his  forehead,  and  regained 
his  self-possession  by  a  strong  effort. 
17* 


198  OVERLAND    TALES. 

"  You  wanted  to  know  who  taught  me  the  song?  My  in- 
formation has  a  price." 

She  had  folded  her  hands  in  her  lap,  and  was  looking 
quietly  into  his  face. 

"  Name  it !  "  he  burst  out  impatiently. 

"  It  is  a  high  price ;  but  I  can  give  you  all  the  information 
you  may  want  in  return.  Here  is  a  sample." 

She  had  turned  the  music-stool  on  which  she  was  seated, 
and  while  he  paced  up  and  down  the  room  to  hide  his  agita- 
tion, she  continued  in  the  tone  of  one  holding  easy  converse 
with  a  good  friend  : 

"  I  learned  this  little  Spanish  song  from  a  very  pretty  girl 
in  New  Mexico.  She  said  she  had  once  taught  it  to  an 
American,  a  tall,  handsome  man,  with  blue  eyes  and  fair  face, 
who  must  have  been  in  love  with  her,  I  think,  for  he  had 
always  substituted  her  name,  in  the  refrain,  for  the  name 
which  the  author  of  the  song  had  put  into  it.  She,  too,  must 
have  been  fond  of  this  American  with  blue  eyes  and  dark 
blonde  hair ;  for,  though  not  in  the  least  conceited,  or  aware  of 
her  own  attractions,  she  always  sang  the  refrain  with  her  own 
name,  Manuela,  instead  of  the  original  name,  Juanita,  simply 
because  this  American  had  wished  her  so  to  do.  The  air  is 
beautiful,  I  think;  and  the  words  are  very  pretty  too."  She 
turned  to  the  keys  again,  as  though  to  repeat  the  air. 

"  Stop  !  "  he  said  hoarsely,  arresting  her  hand  ;  "  you  will 
kill  me.  What  is  the  price  you  ask?  " 

"  The  price  is  high,"  he  groaned,  when  she  had  coolly  and 
in  unfaltering  tones  stated  her  conditions  to  him.  "But  if 
you  promise  to  keep  to  your  word,  I  will  do  my  best." 

"You  will  succeed,  then,"  she  said,  holding  out  her  hand, 
and  speaking  almost  cordially  as  they  parted  for  the  night. 

When  she  reached  her  room  she  seemed  for  once  to 
have  fallen  into  Paul's  role  of  Wandering  Jew;  but  her  steps 
were  noiseless,  though  the  thoughts  that  danced  and  chased 


MANUEL  A.  199 

through  her  brain  would  come  to  her  tongue,  in  quick,  tri- 
umphant words. 

"  My  upright,  truthful  judge  and  brother-in-law  —  to  bring 
about  a  reconciliation  between  his  best  friend,  my  husband, 
and  his  'erring  but  loving  wife.'  "  A  haughty  look  flashed 
in  her  eyes:  "  Regina  —  and  pleading  for  forgiveness  !  Ah, 
well  — even  a  queen  must  sometimes  stoop  to  conquer  !  " 

The  weeks  passed  slowly  on ;  and,  absorbed  though  Laura 
was  in  her  camphor-bottle  and  her  novels,  she  could  not  but 
notice  that  Paul  had  altogether  changed  in  his  behavior  to- 
ward her  sister ;  and  she  rejoiced  over  this  in  her  own  fashion : 

"  I  always  told  Regina  that  her  innocence  would  come  to 
light,  and  she  would  triumph  over  the  machinations  of  her 
enemies,  and  get  married  to  a  —  But  she  is  married — I  for- 
get. Well,  it  will  all  come  right,  and  she  '11  be  ever  so  happy, 
I  know." 

Poor  thing  !  She  could  not  live  to  see  her  so.  The  cam- 
phor-bottle, the  close,  dark  room,  and  the  Frenchy  novels 
were  too  much  for  her ;  and  before  the  spring  had  brought 
any  flowers  to  strew  on  her  grave,  they  had  laid  her  in  a 
darker,  closer  room  than  she  had  yet  been  in.  Her  husband 
and  Regina  followed  the  coffin,  dressed  in  deep  mourn- 
ing; and  Regina's  face,  as  well  as  Paul's,  was  paler  and  sadder 
by  a  good  many  shades  than  usual. 

Meanwhile,  letters  passed  frequently  between  Paul  and  his 
friend  and  brother-in-law ;  and  one  day,  when  the  roses  and 
lilacs  that  bordered  the  lawn  were  shedding  fragrance  and 
beauty  together  over  the  old  homestead-grounds,  Paul  an- 
nounced to  his  sister-in-law  that  he  would  accompany  her  on 
her  journey  to  New  Mexico. 

How  the  wind  of  the  plains  through  Paul's  hair  made  it 
look  more  than  ever  like  a  lion's  mane  !  and  how  like  the 
Paul  of  long  ago  he  looked,  mounted  on  his  fiery  black  horse  ! 
Something  like  pity  for  him  sometimes  stole  into  Regina's 


20O  OVERLAND    TALES. 

heart ;  but  she  would  sneer  at  herself  for  the  feeling.  "  Did 
he  pity  me  when  I  came  home  broken-hearted  —  repentant  ?  " 

The  long  hours  of  their  rest  —  for  the  colonel  had  seen  to 
it  that  his  wife  had  not  to  travel  in  the  plebeian  stage,  but 
was  furnished  train  and  escort  at  Fort  Leavenworth  —  she  be- 
guiled with  telling,  bit  by  bit,  the  story  of  her  acquaintance 
with  Manuela,  who  had  found  her  way  to  the  fort  on  the  Rio 
Pecos,  one  day,  where  they  had  been  stationed.  Regina  had 
been  captivated  at  once  by  the  girl's  gentle  face  and  soft  black 
eyes ;  and  when,  after  an  acquaintance  of  some  weeks,  she 
surmised  that  the  girl  was  looking  for  the  man  who  had  once 
loved  and  then,  unaccountably,  deserted  her,  she  felt  only 
pity  for  one  who  could  so  unselfishly  and  devotedly  love  any 
man  as  to  give  up  home  and  friends,  and  wander  through 
what  must  seem  the  wide  world  to  this  poor  girl,  in  search  of 
him.  That  the  man  was  Paul,  she  felt  quite  sure  ;  though  she 
had  never  expressed  the  least  suspicion  of  this  to  the  colonel. 

This  much  only  could  Paul  learn  from  his  sister-in-law ; 
and  that  she  knew,  even  now,  where  the  girl  could  be  found ; 
further  than  this  she  would  not  say ;  would  not  tell  him  that 
Manuela  had  lived  in  her  own  household,  half  as  domestic, 
half  as  companion ;  that  she  had  been  induced  to  this  by  the 
vague  hope  that  while  with  Americans  she  might  more  easily 
learn  of  those  who  arrived,  or  returned,  from  the  States  to 
the  Territories ;  that  on  leaving  Santa  Fe  she  had  exacted  a 
promise  from  the  girl  to  remain  in  the  colonel's  quarters  and 
employ  until  she  should  send  her  permission  to  leave  her  post. 

And  so  they  reached  Santa  Fe  —  Paul  hopeful  and  expectant 
as  a  young  bridegroom;  Regina  calm  and  thoughtful,  but 
trying  to  look  cheerful  when  she  knew  of  Paul's  eyes*  resting 
on  her;  when  unobserved,  the  dreary,  despairing  look  crept 
back  into  her  eyes,  and  her  face,  white  as  marble,  grew  rigid 
as  the  face  of  a  statue.  When  the  cluster  of  square,  low-built 
adobe  houses,  called  Santa  Fe,  rose  up  before  them,  Paul 


MANUELA.  201 

could  hardly  restrain  his  impatience ;  but  he  had  promised  to 
be  guided  in  all, things  by  his  sister-in-law,  and  he  had  now 
to  abide  by  her  decisions.  "  It  would  be  painful  and  embar- 
rassing to  have  any  one,  even  her  own  brother-in-law,  present 
at  her  first  meeting  with  the  colonel,"  she  said,  and  therefore 
requested  Paul  to  remain  over  night  in  Santa  Fe,  and  ride 
over  in  the  morning  to  where  Fort  Marcy  lay,  on  the  low  rise 
of  the  hills  bordering  the  plain. 

Since  Regina  so  wished  it,  let  the  meeting  between  herself 
and  husband  be  entirely  private.  We  will  not  draw  aside  the 
veil  till  the  next  morning,  which  came  up  with  a  blaze  of 
broad,  staring  sunshine,  promising  an  unpleasantly  hot  day. 
The  commanding  officer's  quarters,  though  surrounded  by  a 
neat  paling-fence,  was  as  bare  and  innocent  of  the  least  at- 
tempt at  a  garden  as  all  the  rest  of  the  quarters  were.  The 
red,  hard  earth  alone  stared  up  at  the  hard  blue  sky ;  outside 
the  fortress  walls,  ungainly  cactus  and  stunted  mesquit  bushes 
made  the  plain  look  only  the  more  inhospitable  and  barren. 

The  quarters  were  low,  but  cool ;  and  as  the  doorways 
were  only  hung  with  curtains,  the  breeze  that  swept  over  the 
plain  had  free  access  to  every  room  in  the  house.  The  large 
sitting-room  at  the  colonel's  quarters  had  been  darkened 
since  early  morning,  and  the  heat  excluded  as  much  as  possi- 
ble, for  the  colonel  was  threatened  with  a  severe  attack  of  the 
torturing  headache  that  sprang  from  the  badly-healed  wound 
in  his  forehead.  As  the  sun  rose  higher,  he  succumbed  to  the 
pain ;  and  as  he  threw  himself  on  the  wide,  low  lounge,  in 
intolerable  suffering,  Regina  stepped  lightly  to  his  side,  to 
supply  the  usual  remedies.  But  a  cold  look  and  colder  words 
drove  her  back  from  his  couch  ;  and  as  he  called  to  Manuela 
to  bathe  his  head,  in  gentle,  almost  tender  tones,  she  for  the 
first  time  felt  a  deadly  hatred  toward  this  girl,  whom  she  knew 
still  to  be  an  angel  in  virtue  and  purity. 

Struck  to  the  heart,  she  left  the  room,  only  to  throw  her- 


2O2  OVERLAND    TALES. 

self  on  the  hard  floor  of  the  next  apartment,  where  she  grov- 
elled in  an  agony  of  anger  and  pain:  Suddenly  the  sound  of 
horses'  hoofs  fell  on  her  ear,  and  she  sprang  up  with  one  wild 
bound,  and  flew  to  the  door,  just  in  time  to  motion  Paul,  who 
had  already  dismounted,  into  her  presence. 

"Now  has  my  time  come!  "  She  could  hardly  restrain 
herself  from  crying  it  out  aloud  to  the  frowning  mountain 
and  the  arid  plain.  "Ricardo,  thou  shalt  be  avenged !  avenged 
thou,  my  poor  heart,  for  the  tears  and  the  blood  wrung  from 
thee  for  many,  many  bitter  days  !  " 

The  light  of  the  sun  shining  into  Paul's  eyes,  blinded  him ; 
and  though  he  saw  the  finger  laid  on  her  lips,  he  could  not 
see  the  dishevelled  hair  and  bloodshot  eyes,  and  approached 
her,  looking  for  some  glad  surprise.  He  had  donned  a  Mexi- 
can costume,  and  the  little  silver  bells  on  the  outside  seam  of 
his  pantaloons  jingled  musically  at  every  step ;  while  the  short 
jacket,  showing  the  pistol-belt  under  the  red  sash,  set  his  fig- 
ure off  to  full  advantage. 

He  spoke  laughingly :  "You  see  I  have  turned  Mexican, 
every  inch  of  me  !  "  then  he  caught  the  wild  eyes,  with  their 
frenzied  look,  and  he  grasped  her  hand,  exclaiming,  "  Good 
God  !  what  has  happened  ?  ' ' 

"Happened?"  she  echoed  with  a  demoniac  laugh;  "we 
have  been  deceived  —  outraged  —  cheated  out  of  our  life's 
happiness  —  both  you  and  I !  Behold  the  traitor  and  the 
serpent !  " 

Drawing  aside  the  curtain  that  hung  in  the  door-arch  be- 
tween the  two  rooms,  she  beckoned  him  to  approach,  and 
pointed  silently  to  the  group  in  the  next  room.  Bending 
over  the  reclining  form  of  the  man  on  the  lounge  stood  a 
girl,  whose  face,  of  angel  goodness,  was  turned  in  profile  to  the 
two  intruders  at  the  doorway.  The  man's  eyes  were  closed  ; 
and  as  the  girl  stooped  lower,  his  hand  stole  softly  around 
her  form,  and  nestled  there,  lovingly,  tenderly,  as  though  it 


MANUEL  A.  2O3 

had  found  a  long-sought  resting-place.  Pliant  braids  of 
glossy  black  hair  fell  far  below  the  girl's  waist ;  and  her  eyes 
were  of  the  almond  shape,  that  we  find  in  the  faces  of  those 
descended  from  the  people  of  Castile. 

In  a  moment  Paul's  burning  eyes  had  taken  in  the  picture, 
and  an  inarticulate  sound  came  over  his  lips.  The  woman 
beside  him  watched  him  with  the  eyes  of  a  tigress;  and  he 
never  knew  —  was  it  her  touch  that  guided  him,  or  did  his 
own  evil  passions  move  his  hand  from  his  reeking  brow  to  the 
pistol  in  his  belt  ?  There  was  a  sharp  report,  a  shriek  and  a 
groan,  and  the  next  minute  Paul  Kennerly  was  dashing  over 
the  plain,  mounted  on  his  fleet  black  horse,  the  wind  tossing 
through  his  hair,  and  raising  it  from  his  bare  brow,  where  it 
reared  itself  proudly,  like  the  mane  of  a  lion  when  he  flies 
from  captivity  and  death. 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  GIL  A  BEND. 

^T^RAVELLING  from  Los  Angeles  to  Tucson,  you  can,  if  you 
choose,  sleep  under  a  roof  almost  every  night,  provid- 
ing you  have  good  teams.  There  are  Government  forage 
stations  along  the  whole  route,  where  travellers  are  "  taken  in  " 
by  the  station-keepers,  though  not  on  Government  account. 
I  do  not  say  that  it  is  pleasant  at  all  these  stations,  particu- 
larly for  a  woman,  as  she  will  seldom  or  never  meet  one  of 
her  own  sex  on  the  way.  When  we  left  Fort  Yuma,  Sam,  the 
driver,  assured  me  that  I  would  not  see  a  white  woman's  face 
between  there  and  Tucson.  He  was  mistaken.  I  met  not 
only  one,  but  a  whole  family  of  them,  one  after  another. 

The  day  that  brought  us  to  Oatman's  Flat  was  murky,  dark, 
and  gloomy  —  a  day  in  full  harmony  with  the  character  of  the 
country  we  were  travelling  through.  We  descended  into  the 
Flat  by  an  abrupt  fall  in  the  road  that  landed  us  at  once 
among  a  clump  of  scraggy,  darkling  willows,  drooping  wearily 
over  a  sluggish  little  creek.  In  the  distance  we  could  see  the 
white  sand  of  the  bed  of  the  Gila,  and  half-buried  in  it  the 
ghastly,  water-bleached  limbs  of  the  trees  that  the  river  had 
uprooted  year  after  year  in  its  annual  frenzy.  We  could  not 
go  the  upper  road,  on  account  of  the  Gila's  having  washed 
out  a  portion  of  it,  and  the  lower  road  seemed  to  be  regarded 
by  Sam  with  all  the  disfavor  it  deserved.  Verde  or  grease- 
wood,  as  ragged  and  scraggy  as  the  willows,  covered  the 
whole  Flat,  except  where,  towards  the  centre,  a  dilapidated 
shanty  stood  on  a  sandy,  cheerless  open  space.  Not  far  from 
it  were  the  remains  of  a  fence,  enclosing  some  six  paces  of 

204 


THE  ROMANCE    OF  GIL  A   BEND.  2O5 

uneven  ground,  and  on  the  only  upper  rail  left  of  the  inclos- 
ure  sat  a  dismal-looking,  solitary  crow. 

There  was  something  so  repulsively  dreary  about  the  whole 
place  that  it  made  me  shudder,  and  when  Sam,  pointing  to  it 
with  his  whip,  said  it  was  the  spot  where  the  Oatman  family 
had  been  murdered  and  lay  buried,  I  was  not  in  the  least  sur- 
prised. Only  one  of  the  whole  family  had  escaped — a  little 
chap  who  had  crawled  away  after  he  had  been  left  for  dead, 
and  brought  the  white  people  from  the  next  settlement  to  the 
scene  of  the  massacre.  There  was  nothing  to  be  done  but  to 
bury  the  mutilated  corpses;  after  this,  the  place  had  been 
deserted  and  shunned  by  the  few  who  lived  here,  though 
there  had  been  no  more  Indian  depredations  committed  for 
years  past. 

I  was  glad  that  the  road  did  not  take  us  very  near  the 
shanty,  though  I  watched  it  with  a  strange  fascination.  Sam, 
too,  had  his  eyes  fixed  on  something  that  might  have  been 
the  shadow  of  one  of  the  victims,  flitting  by  the  black  gap 
which  had  once  been  the  door.  The  place  was  so  weird  that 
the  ghostly  shadow  seemed '  to  belong  there ;  it  chimed  in  so 
well  with  the  rest,  that  I  accepted  it  as  a  part  of  the  uncanny 
whole.  We  had  been  going  along  at  the  usual  leisurely  gait, 
but  Sam  whipped  up  the  mules  all  at  once,  and  leaned  out  of 
the  ambulance  to  speak  to  Phil,  who  drove  the  army  wagon 
containing  our  baggage.  The  road  was  good  and  solid,  so  I 
took  no  alarm  at  first ;  but  when  the  speed  was  continued, 
and  the  baggage-wagon  kept  thundering  close  behind  us,  I 
ventured  to  ask,  "  Is  there  danger  from  Indians  here?  "  * 
"  There  hain't  no  Indians  been  seen  around  here  for  more'n 
three  years,"  was  the  answer,  which  satisfied  me  at  the  time. 
When  we  came  to  Burke' s  Station,  where  we  were  to  pass 
the  night,  a  surprise  awaited  us.  The  house,  a  squalid  adobe, 
was  built  in  the  style  common  along  the  route  —  an  open  pas- 
sage-way with  rooms  on  either  side.  The  principal  room  to 
18 


206  OVERLAND    TALES. 

the  left  was  bar-room  and  store-room ;  the  room  to  the  right 
was  reception-room,  sitting-room,  bed-room,  and  behind  it 
was  the  kitchen.  The  passage-way  was  dining-hall.  When 
the  tall  young  Missourian,  mine  host,  had  ushered  me  into 
the  room,  he  stepped  to  the  opening  leading  to  the  kitchen 
and  called  out : 

"  Here,  Sis,  come  and  speak  to  the  lady." 

Obedient  to  the  call,  a  bashful,  half-grown  girl  appeared, 
wiping  her  hands  on  her  apron,  and  looking  up  timidly  from 
under  her  long  eyelashes.  I  took  her  by  the  hand.  "  How 
do  you,  child?  How  in  the  world  did  you  get  here,  and 
where  is  your  mother  ?  "  I  asked. 

Sam  and  Phil  stood  in  the  hall-door  nudging  each  other, 
until  Sam  could  restrain  himself  no  longer. 

"Why,  that's  his  wife,"  pointing  to  the  young  Goliah 
from  Missouri,  "and  her  dad  and  mam's  living  in  the  old 
shanty  down  on  the  Flat.  I'll  be  derned  if  they  didn't 
give  me  the  worst  scare  I  had  yet  —  thought  they  was  In- 
dians, shore!  " 

I  looked  from  one  to  the  other.  "  And  how  old  are  you?  " 
I  asked  the  girl. 

"Almost  fifteen!"  was  the  answer;  and  when  the  men 
withdrew  she  told  me  about  the  rest  of  her  family,  whom  I 
would  probably  find  along  the  road. 

Sis  was  badly  dressed  ;  a  coarse  cotton  gown,  made  with  a 
yoke  about  an  inch  and  a  half  in  depth,  was  drawn  up  close 
around  her  neck,  and  hung  loosely  about  her  slender,  imma- 
ture form ;  her  naked  feet  were  thrust  into  coarse  boots,  and  a 
large  check  apron  completed  her  costume.  But  there  was  a 
shy,  daisy-like  grace  about  her  that  made  one  forget  the  dress 
and  see  only  the  dove-like  eyes  and  half-pensive  smile  on  her 
face.  Her  husband  treated  her  in  all  things  like  a  child,  and 
she  obeyed  him  without  a  murmur  or  a  question.  When  we 
left  he  told  us  that  we  would  find  Sis's  aunt  at  Kenyon's  Sta- 


THE   ROMANCE    OF  GIL  A   BEND.  2O/ 

tion,  and  charged  us  to  say  that  Sis  was  well,  and  not  the 
least  bit  homesick. 

We  made  Kenyon's  Station  early  in  the  day,  Sam  and  Phil 
greatly  enjoying  the  prospect  of  seeing  another  white  woman 
here.  She  appeared  on  the  threshold,  a  brawny,  coarse-handed 
woman  of  about  forty,  tidy-looking,  in  spite  of  her  bare  feet  and 
the  short  pipe  in  her  mouth.  -By  her  side  appeared  a  shock- 
headed  girl  of  twelve,  with  eyes  agog  and  mouth  open  at  the 
strange  apparition  of  a  civilized-looking  white  woman.  The 
husband  stood  beside  the  ambulance  —  six  feet  and  a  half  in 
his  cowhide  boots — a  good-humored  smile  on  his  leathery  face, 
and  lifted  me  to  the  ground  as  though  I  had  been  a  feather. 
Though  the  house,  like  that  at  Burke's  Station,  was  only  adobe, 
there  was  an  air  of  homely  comfort  about  it,  inside  and  out, 
that  made  it  much  more  cheerful  than  the  other  place. 

Aunt  Polly  was  an  excellent  housekeeper  —  as  viewed  from 
a  Texan  standpoint  —  and  after  she  had  in  the  most  naive 
manner  satisfied  her  curiosity  in  regard  to  my  looks  and  gen- 
eral make-up,  she  commenced  preparations  for  dinner.  Sarah 
Eliza  Jane,  sole  daughter  of  the  house  and  race,  stayed  by  me 
in  the  room.  Sitting  in  a  low,  home-made  chair,  she  stared 
steadily  at  me,  sitting  on  a  taller  home-made  chair,  till  she 
had  comprehended  that  the  bits  of  braid  and  lace  in  my  lap 
were'  to  be  manufactured  into  a  collar  similar  to  the  one  I 
wore  in  my  dress.  When  she  learned  that  the  collar  was  to 
be  for  her,  she  ran  out  to  the  kitchen,  shouting  for  her  mother 
to  come  and  see  what  I  was  doing.  The  mother's  delight 
was  as  frank  and  hearty  as  the  daughter's,  and  all  at  once  the 
secret  leaked  out  that  the  family  was  in  possession  of  a  fine 
American  cow.  Never  speak  disparagingly  to  me  of  Pikes  and 
Texans.  The  least  kindness  shown  to  them  is  returned  tenfold, 
and  the  smallest  advance  of  friendliness  is  met  by  them  half- 
way. When  dinner  (or  supper)  was  placed  on  the  table,  there 
came  with  it  the  most  delicious  butter  I  had  eaten  for  many  a 


208  OVERLAND    TALES. 

long  day,  to  say  nothing  of  a  glass  of  buttermilk,  the  sweetest 
I  ever  tasted.  But  I  must  tell  you  how  Aunt  Polly  made  the 
butter,  in  case  you  should  emigrate  to  Arizona  without  a  patent 
diamond  churn.  The  cream  was  put  into  a  high  tin  quart 
cup,  and  beaten  with  a  spoon  till  the  butter  came  —  which  it 
did  in  about  fifteen  minutes. 

By  the  time  dinner  was  over  we  had  become  quite  intimate, 
and  Aunt  Polly  having  resumed  her  pipe,  gave  me  a  short 
account  of  her  history  since  emigrating  from  Texas.  The 
two  most  striking  incidents  were  the  loss  of  her  former  hus- 
band by  a  stroke  of  lightning,  about  ten  months  ago,  and  the 
acquisition  of  her  present  husband  by  a  stroke  of  policy, 
about  three  months  ago.  Though  she  did  not  show  me  the 
weeds  she  had  worn  on  becoming  a  widow,  she  exhibited  the 
gorgeous  "good  clothes"  she  wore  on  again  becoming  a  wife. 
She  stood  at  a  little  distance  from  me  and  spread  out  the 
second-day  dress,  so  that  I  could  see  the  whole  of  the  pattern, 
consisting  of  detached  bouquets  —  brilliantly  variegated  in 
color  and  gigantic  in  size  —  scattered  over  a  plain  of  light 
sky-blue.  The  dress  worn  for  "the  occasion"  was  a  gauzy 
white  muslin,  which  must  have  had  a  delicate  effect  —  if  she 
wore  bare  feet  and  a  pipe  in  her  mouth  with  it.  Her  husband 
had  proved  kind  and  indulgent.  Since  their  marriage  he  had 
been  at  Maricopa  Wells,  and  had  bought  at  the  store  "there 
another  beautiful  dress  of  many  colors — which,  alas  !  had  run 
out  of  his  saddle-bags,  after  a  two  hours'  hard  rain,  on  his 
way  home.  I  saw  the  dress  pattern,  and  —  oh,  it  was  pitiful. 

After  this  display  of  good-will  and  fine  clothes  on  her  part, 
she  said  she  had  a  favor  to  ask  of  me,  too.  She  pointed  to 
my  trunk,  and  said  her  husband  was  crazy  to  know  whether 
there  was  a  waterfall  in  it?  He  had  read  so  much  about 
waterfalls  in  the  stray  papers  that  fell  into  his  hands  that  he 
had  the  greatest  curiosity  in  the  world  to  know  what  it  was, 
and  to  see  one  with  his  own  eyes.  He  imagined  it  to  be  a 


THE  ROMANCE    OF  GIL  A   BEND.  2OQ 

kind  of  box  or  bag  that  ladies  wore  on  their  heads  to  carry 
their  hair  in,  and,  seeing  no  foreign  matter  on  my  head,  he 
"reckoned  that  I  packed  it  with  me  in  my  trunk."  Aunt 
Polly  had  shrewdly  guessed  it  to  be  a  new  fashion  of  "put- 
ting up  "  the  hair;  but  they  both  had  about  as  correct  an  idea 
of  it  as  a  blind  man  has  of  colors.  With  deep  regret  I  owned 
that  there  was  no  waterfall  in  my  trunk  ;  but  seeing  their  dis- 
appointment, I  succeeded,  with  the  aid  of  a  pair  of  stockings 
and  a  pin-cushion,  in  putting  up  my  hair  into  quite  a  little 
Niagara,  to  the  great  delight  of  these  fashion-worshipping 
people. 

How  charming  the  grove  of  trees  looks,  when  you  draw  up 
under  their  shadow  at  Gila  Bend,  after  days  of  travel  over 
tedious  sand-plains  or  through  wildernesses  of  grease-wood 
and  cactus.  The  whisper  of  the  wind  in  the  trees,  the  bark 
of  the  dog  that  ran  out  to  meet  us,  and  the  cackle  of  the  busy 
hens  around  the  doorway,  told  us  that  we  should  find  good 
and  happy  people  here.  There  was  the  solitary  house  as  usual, 
but  it  seemed  more  pretentious  than  those  at  the  other  sta- 
tions. The  passage-way  was  higher  and  wider,  the  rooms 
more  numerous,  and  finished  with  whitewash  and  good  glass 
windows.  At  the  windows  curtains ;  a  gay-colored  counter- 
pane on  the  bed,  and  wolf-skins  in  front  of  it  and  the  lounge. 

The  station-keeper  was  a  black-bearded,  good-looking  man, 
and  his  name  was  George  Washington — (I  won't  give  the 
rest  of  his  name  —  it 's  too  long).  I  knew  I  should  find  Sis's 

elder  sister  here  as  Mrs.  George  W. ,  for  she  had  been 

married  on  the  same  day  with  her  Aunt  Polly.  The  blue 
eyes,  under  long,  silken  lashes,  that  met  my  gaze  on  the 
threshold  at  Gila  Bend  were  like  Sis's,  only  these  were  the 
eyes  of  a  woman  ;  there  were  the  same  pretty  movements,  too, 
only  there  was  more  of  self-assertion  in  them.  She  might 
have  been  eighteen ;  from  out  of  the  muslin  dress  she  wore 
shone  the  whitest  shoulders  that  belle  ever  exhibited  in  a  ball- 
18*  y 


2IO  OVERLAND    TALES. 

room.  Her  hands  and  feet  were  small,  and  her  rich  brown 
hair,  oddly,  though  not  unbecomingly  dressed,  lay  on  a  fore- 
head white  and  pure  as  that  of  a  child. 

No  wonder  George  W.  was  proud  of  his  wife,  and  had  tried 
hard  to  win  as  such  the  barefooted  girl  whom  he  found  one 
day,  with  her  family  and  some  sorry  ox-teams,  camped  near 
his  house,  on  their  way  from  Texas  to  California.  It  was 
quite  a  large  family.  There  was  the  girl's  mother,  her  step- 
father, her  sister,  her  brother,  the  aunt,  and  the  aunt's  little 
girl.  Aunt  Polly  seemed  to  be  the  leading  man,  for  to  her 
belonged  the  two  best  ox-teams,  one  of  which  was  driven  by 
herself,  the  other  by  the  girl,  Dorinda.  She  had  hired  or 
bought  her  niece  from  the  step-father  for  this  purpose,  after 
she  had  lost  her  husband  by  lightning,  and  Dora  had  been 
faithful  to  her  task,  although  pretty  nearly  worn  out  crossing 
the  Desert  from  Maricopa  Wells  to  Gila  Bend,  where  George 
W.  first  found  them.  After  he  had  taken  a  deep  look  into  the 
girl's  eyes,  he  very  disinterestedly  invited  the  whole  family  to 
come  into  his  house  —  as  far  as  they  would  go  in  —  to  rest 
there  from  the  long,  hard  journey.  The  family  was  treated 
to  the  best  the  house  afforded,  and  the  oxen  were  fed  on  such 
hay  as  they  had  perhaps  never  dreamed  of  before. 

The  Texans  were  in  no  hurry  to  move  on,  and  George  W. 
was  in  no  hurry  to  have  them  go  ',  being  a  bachelor,  he  was 
naturally  fond  of  ladies'  society.  Dora,  Sis,  and  the  ten-year- 
old  brother  soon  became  warmly  attached  to  him,  and  they, 
with  the  big  dog,  Bose,  would  daily  wander  off  to  the  Gila  to 
catch  fish.  When  they  got  there  the  two  barefooted  girls  and 
the  brother  would  wade  into  the  stream  with  ever  fresh  zest, 
as  they  recalled  that  dreadful  drag  across  the  waterless  desert. 
Bose  always  went  into  the  water  with  them,  George  W.  alone 
remaining  on  the  bank,  fishing-line  in  hand. 

One  day,  when  Dora  had  watched  the  cool,  clear  water 
gliding  swiftly  over  her  sun-browned  feet  in  silence,  she  raised 
her  eyes  suddenly  from  under  the  long,  shading  lashes : 


THE   ROMANCE    OF  GIL  A   BEND.  211 

"Why  do  you  never  come  into  the  water?  Don't  you  like 
to  stand  in  it  ?  "  she  asked  of  George. 

"  Come  and  sit  beside  me  here,  and  I  will  tell  you ! " 

She  nestled  down  beside  him,  and  he  called  to  Bose,  who 
laid  his  head  on  his  master's  knee  and  looked  knowingly  from 
one  to  the  other. 

"About  three  years  ago,  before  I  had  built  this  house  of 
mine,  I  lived  in  a  little  shanty,  about  a  mile  from  the  river — 
just  back  here.  The  summer  was  very  hot.  I  had  suf- 
fered much  from  the  sun  and  the  want  of  water  in  crossing  the 
country,  and  after  the  man  who  came  out  here  with  me 
had  gone  on  to  Fort  Yuma,  1  was  left  entirely  alone.  When 
I  see  you  over  your  ankles  in  the  water  now,  I  am  often 
tempted  to  call  you  back,  only  I  know  that  you  are  young  and 
strong,  and  I  remember  but  too  well  what  pleasure  there  is  in  it. 
Besides,  you  do  not  remain  in  it  as  I  did,  for  long  weary  hours 
every  day,  standing  in  the  shade  of  a  willow  catching  fish  for 
my  dinner.  There  was  little  else  here  to  eat  then,  and  I 
never  left  off  fishing  till  I  was  taken  with  rheumatism,  from 
which  I  had  suffered  years  before.  I  was  all  alone  and  could 
not  move,  and  had  nearly  perished  for  want  of  water,  because 
I  could  not  walk  down  to  the  river  to  get  it.  Nor  could  I 
cook  anything,  because  beans  require  a  great  deal  of  water, 
and  I  would  have  died  alone  in  my  shanty,  if  it  had  not  been 
for  this  dog."  (Bose  wagged  his  tail  to  indicate  that  he  un- 
derstood what  was  being  said.)  "  A  dozen  times  a  day  Bose 
would  trot  down  to  the  river,  dip  up  a  small  tin  pailful  of 
water,  and  bring  it  to  me  where  I  stood  or  lay.  Otherwise 
the  faithful  old  fellow  never  left  my  side,  day  or  night,  and 
though  he  would,  no  doubt,  nurse  me  through  another  spell 
of  rheumatism,  it  would  be  dreadful  to  be  sick  and  alone  here 
after  you  and  your  people  have  left  me." 

Dora  was  stroking  the  dog's  rough  coat.  "It  would  be 
dreadful,"  she  repeated,  absently,  a  tear  rolling  from  her 


212  OVERLAND    TALES. 

lashes  to  her  cheek.  Her  words  and  the  look  in  her  eyes 
thrilled  the  man  to  his  inmost  soul. 

"Dora,"  he  said,  and  arrested  the  hand  travelling  over 
Bose's  head  j  "  Dora,  I  am  old  enough  to  be  your  father  —  " 

"Yes,"  she  replied,  looking  up  artlessly  —  but  there  was 
something  in  his  face  that  made  her  eyes  drop  and  the  warm 
blood  flush  her  cheeks. 

When  he  spoke  again  it  was  of  something  quite  "different, 
and  after  awhile  the  conversation  turned  to  her  family.  Her 
stepfather  did  not  always  treat  her  well ;  he  had  struck  her 
cruelly  once,  and  her  mother  dared  not  interfere,  she  knowing 
his  temper  but  too  well.  George  could  hardly  keep  from  put- 
ting his  arms  about  her  to  shield  her  from  the  man's  rough 
ways,  and  in  his  heart  he  vowed  that  it  should  be  different  if 
Dora  did  but  will  it  so.  The  stepfather  and  aunt  had  spoken 
of  pulling  up  stakes  soon,  but  what  wonder  that  Dora  was 
averse  to  going? 

In  the  evening  George  W.  proposed  to  the  stepfather  that 
he  remain  at  the  station  and  "  farm  it  "  near  the  river,  while 
the  mother  kept  house  for  them  all  and  served  meals  to  the 
travelling  public  of  Arizona.  From  sheer  perverseness  the 
stepfather  refused,  saying  that  he  wanted  to  go  on  to  Califor- 
nia, and  George  W.  determined  to  hasten  matters  in  another 
direction.  He  hovered  as  much  as  possible  about  Dora,  who, 
since  the  day  by  the  riverside,  had  taken  Bose  into  her  confi- 
dence and  affection.  Wherever  she  went  the  dog  went,  too, 
and  his  master  augured  well  for  himself  from  this,  though 
Dora  was  shy  and  more  distant  than  when  she  first  came  to 
Gila  Bend. 

One  day  the  Texans  commenced  gathering  up  their  "tricks" 
and  making  ready  to  go.  Dora's  eyes  were  red,  and  George 
W.,  to  cheer  her,  perhaps,  proposed  that  she  should  go  with 
him  to  where  he  suspected  one  of  the  hens  had  made  a  nest 
in  the  bushes  by  the  river  bank.  When  they  came  back  she 


THE  ROMANCE    OF  GIL  A   BEND.  21$ 

seemed  even  more  shy,  though  she  stole  up  to  him  in  the  twi- 
light, where  he  stood  by  the  big  mesquite  tree,  and  hastily  put 
her  hands  into  his.  He  drew  her  to  him  quickly,  pressed  her 
head  to  his  breast,  and  murmured  :  "  Thanks,  my  little  girl  !  " 
as  he  touched  her  hair  with  his  lips.  An  hour  later  there  was 
clamor  and  confusion  at  Gila  Bend.  George  W.  seemed  to 
have  caused  it  all,  for  to  him  the  aunt  vehemently  declared 
that  she  would  have  the  girl  to  drive  her  ox-team  into  Cali- 
fornia—  she  had  hired  her  and  paid  for  her;  and  the  step- 
father shouted  that  he  had  control  of  the  child,  and  go  she 
should,  whether  or  no. 

Poor  George  passed  a  sleepless  night.  The  picture  of  Dora, 
barefooted  and  weary,  toiling  hopelessly  through  the  sand  on 
the  desert,  was  always  before  him,  and  he  swore  to  himself 
that  she  should  not  go  from  him ;  that  he  would  shelter  her 
henceforth  from  the  cruel,  burning  sun,  and  the  sharp  words 
and  sharper  blows  of  her  stepfather.  In  the  morning,  after 
exacting  a  promise  from  the  aunt  and  the  stepfather  to  remain 
until  he  returned,  he  started  out  alone  on  his  trusty  horse, 
Bose  running  close  by  his  side.  When  he  had  left  the  shelter 
of  the  trees,  he  halted  and  looked  keenly  about  him  in  every 
direction.  A  sharp  bark  from  Bose  made  him  turn  toward 
the  river.  Swift  of  foot  as  the  antelope  of  the  plains,  Dora 
was  crossing  the  stretch  of  land  between  the  road  and  the 
river,  and  when  she  reached  the  lone  horseman  waiting  for 
her,  a  light  bound  brought  her  foot  into  the  stirrup  and  her 
flushed  face  on  a  level  with  his. 

"Thanks,  my  little  girl,  I  knew  you  would  come,"  he 
said,  as  on  the  night  before ;  but  this  time  he  held  her  face 
between  his  hands  and  looked  searchingly  into  her  eyes. 
"  What  if  they  should  try  to  take  my  little  girl  away  before  I 
come  back  —  would  she  go  off  and  leave  me? " 

She  met  his  look  fearlessly  and  confidingly.  "Tell  me 
what  direction  you  are  going,  and  I  will  run  away  and  follow 
you,  if  they  break  up  before  your  return." 


214  OVERLAND    TALES. 

"  Toward  Fort  Yuma.  I  shall  ride  day  and  night,  and  re- 
turn to  you  in  ten  days.  Good-bye;  keep  faith  and  keep 
courage. ' ' 

"Good-bye!  "  for  the  first  time  the  soft,  bare  arms  were 
laid  around  his  neck,  and  the  blushing,  child-like  face  half- 
buried  in  his  full  black  beard.  "Let  me  keep  Bose  here," 
she  called  after  him,  and  at  a  word  from  his  master,  the  dog 
sped  after  her  over  the  cactus-covered  ground. 

At  Gila  Bend,  preparations  for  departure  on  George's  re- 
turn were  kept  on  foot  —  purposely,  it  seemed,  to  keep  before 
Dora's  eyes  the  fact  that  she  was  expected  to  go  with  her 
people  when  they  went.  The  days  passed,  one  like  the  other  ; 
there  was  no  event  to  break  the  monotony  of  this  desert-life. 
Yes,  there  was  a  change ;  but  none  knew  of  it  nor  perceived 
it,  except,  perhaps,  Dora's  mother.  From  a  thoughtless, 
easily-guided  girl,  Dora  was  changing  into  a  self-reliant, 
strong-spirited  woman.  Her  mother  knew  of  her  resolve  as 
well  as  though  she  had  heard  her  utter  it ;  she  looked  upon 
her  eldest-born  with  all  the  greater  pride  when  she  discovered 
that  "the  gal  had  a  heap  of  her  dad's  grit,"  as  well  as  his 
mild  blue  eyes. 

When  the  morning  of  the  tenth  day  dawned,  Dora  was  up 
betimes,  mending,  with  deft  fingers,  all  the  little  rents  she 
could  find,  in  her  thin,  well-worn  dress.  Never  before  had 
she  felt  that  she  was  poor,  or  that  she  wanted  more  than  the 
simple  gown  and  the  limp  sun-bonnet  making  up  her  attire. 

"Moving"  had  been  their  permanent  state  and  normal 
condition  as  long  as  she  could  think  back,  and  she  had  known 
mostly  only  those  who  lived  in  the  same  condition.  She  had 
never  seen  town  or  city;  yet,  in  the  settlements  through 
which  they  had  passed,  she  had  seen  enough  of  backwoods 
finery  to  know  that  her  wardrobe  was  scantily  furnished.  At 
last,  one  by  one,  the  tears  gathered  slowly  in  her  eyes,  and 
she  leaned  her  head  on  the  edge  of  the  bed  where  her  sister 


THE  ROMANCE    OF  GIL  A   BEND.  21$ 

lay  still  asleep,  and  sobbed  till  Sis  woke  up  and  looked  at  her 
with  wondering  eyes. 

-In  the  course  of  the  day,  Dora  went  to  the  river  two  or 
three  times,  Bose  always  close  at  her  heels.  Whatever  may 
have  been  the  character  of  the  mysterious  consultations  they 
held,  in  the  afternoon  the  dog  was  missing  until  near  sundown, 
when  he  dashed  into  the  station,  panting  and  with  protruding 
tongue,  his  tail  wagging  excitedly  while  lapping  up  the  water 
Dora  had  filled  his  basin  with.  Unobserved  she  stole  away, 
and  when  quite  a  distance  from  the  house,  Bose  came  tearing 
through  the  cactus  after  her,  "pointing"  in  the  direction 
from  where  a  light  dust  arose.  The  little  cloud  came  nearer, 
and  soon  a  horseman  could  be  discovered  in  it.  A  race 
began  between  Dora  and  the  dog,  and  when  the  different  par- 
ties met,  Bose  was  fain  to  leap  up  and  salute  the  horse's  face, 
because  the  rider  was  otherwise  engaged.  When  Dora  was 
perched  in  front  of  him,  the  horse  continued  the  journey  in 
a  slow  walk,  while  the  girl  looked  the  question  she  was  too 
timid  to  ask.  George  answered  her  look:  "Yes,  darling,  I 
think  your  aunt  will  be  satisfied." 

"  Then  you  have  brought  a  man  ?  "  Her  curiosity  had  con- 
quered, for  she  could  see  no  human  being  beside  themselves. 

"I  have."  His  laugh  made  her  shrink  a  little  —  like  the 
mimosa  sensitiva,  when  touched  by  ever  so  dainty  a  finger  — 
and,  he  added,  soberly,  "Two  of  them.  One  is  the  station- 
keeper  at  Kenyon's  Station.  Their  wagon  will  come  into 
sight  directly ;  but  I  don't  want  them  to  see  my  little  girl  out 
here  with  me." 

An  hour  afterward  a  heavily  laden  wagon,  drawn  by  two 
stout  horses,  was  rolling  into  Gila  Bend,  followed  by  Mr. 
George  W.,  mounted  on  Bess.  A  pleasant  welcome  was  ex- 
tended by  all  to  the  new  arrivals ;  even  Bose,  the  hypocrite, 
barked  and  capered  and  flounced  his  tail  as  though  he  had  n't 
greeted  his  master,  two  miles  down  the  road,  a  little  while  ago. 


2l6  OVERLAND    TALES. 

Supper  was  served  by  the  mother  and  aunt  —  this  latter  lady 
being  narrowly  but  furtrvely  watched  by  the  station-keeper 
of  Kenyon's  Station.  All  thoughts  of  business  or  departure 
seemed  banished  for  that  night.  The  aunt  and  the  newly- 
come  station-keeper  enjoying  their  pipe  in  quiet  harmony,  a 
little  apart  from  the  rest,  so  much  taken  up  with  each  other 
that  the  second  man  was  left  entirely  to  the  family.  The  next 
morning  this  second  man  was  offered  to  the  aunt  by  George 
W.  as  a  substitute  for  Dora;  but,  as  the  Kenyon's  station- 
keeper  had  offered  himself  to  her  as  a  husband,  earlier  in  the 
day,  the  substitute  was  declined.  Neither  George  nor  the 
second  man,  however,  seemed  put  out  about  it.  Indeed, 
there  was  something  suspicious  about  the  readiness  with  which 
he  went  to  work  on  the  half-finished  corral  building  at  the 
station.  The  aunt  and  the  stepfather  did  not  seem  to  notice 
this.  Only  the  mother  thought  her  own  thoughts  about  it. 

Later  in  the  day,  when  the  father  and  the  brother  were  with 
the  man  at  the  corral,  the  aunt  with  her  station-keeper,  and 
Sis  thoughtfully  kept  employed  by  her  mother,  Dora  found  a 
chance  to  steal  out  to  the  wagon,  where  George  was  waiting 
for  her.  From  under  the  wagon  sheet  he  drew  two  or  three 
bundles,  which,  on  being  opened,  contained  what  Dora 
thought  the  finest  display  of  dry-goods  she  had  ever  seen. 
Lost  in  admiration,  her  face  suddenly  fell,  and  a  queer,  unex- 
plained sense  of  something  painful  or  humiliating  jarred  on 
her  feelings  when  several  pairs  of  ladies'  shoes  and  numerous 
pairs 'of  stockings  made  their  appearance  from  out  of  one  of 
the  bundles.  She  drew  back,  hurt  and  abashed,  and  when 
George  asked  — 

"But,  Dora,  don't  you  like  your  finery?  I  thought  you 
liked  pink.  Isn't  this  dress  pretty?  " 

She  answered  confusedly,  "I  —  I  didn't  know  they  were 
for  me  —  and  besides  — I  can't  take  them.  I  know  I  am  a 
poor  —  ignorant  girl  —  but  —  "  a  sob  finished  the  sentence  as 
she  turned  to  go  to  the  house. 


THE  ROMANCE    OF  GIL  A   BEND.  2I/ 

But  she  did  not  go.  I  don't  know  what  George  W.  said 
to  her  while  he  held  her  close  to  him.  It  was  something 
about  his  right  to  buy  finery  for  his  little  wife,  and  the  like 
nonsense,  which  Dora  did  not  repeat  to  Sis  when  she  pre- 
sented to  her  a  dress  of  the  brightest  possible  scarlet. 

That  night  they  all  sat  out  under  the  trees  together.  There 
was  no  more  reserve  or  secrecy  maintained.  A  dozen  papers 
of  the  choicest  brands  of  tobacco  and  half  a  dozen  bottles  of 
"Colorado  river  water,"  from  Fort  Yuma,  had  wonderfully 
mollified  the  stepfather.  The  mother  would  have  been  happy, 
even  without  the  indigo-blue  dress  that  fell  to  her  share,  and 
Buddy  was  radiant  in  new  suspenders  and  a  white  store  shirt. 
As  soon  as  possible  a  Justice  of  the  Peace  was  imported  from 
Arizona  City,  to  which  place  he  was  faithfully  returned,  after 
having  made  two  happy  couples  at  Gila  Bend. 

Many  months  after,  on  my  way  back  from  Tucson,  we  came 
quite  unexpectedly,  between  the  latter  place  and  Sacaton,  on  a 
new  shanty.  It  was  built  of  unhewn  logs  of  cottonwood  and 
mesquite  trees,  the  branches,  with  their  withered  foliage,  fur- 
nishing the  roof.  A  certain  cheerful,  home-like  air  about  the 
place  made  me  surmise  the  presence  of  a  woman. 

I  was  not  mistaken ;  for  though  the  only  door  of  the  hut 
was  closed,  and  I  could  see  no  window,  a  loud  but  pleasant 
treble  voice  rang  out  directly:  "Dad!  Bud!  come  right 
h'yere  to  me.  I  know  that  's  her  comin'  thar  —  I  jist  know  it 
is,"  and  a  little  lithe  body  rushed  out  of  the  door  and  up  to 
the  ambulance,  as  though  she  meant  to  take  wagon,  mules,  and 
all  by  storm.  A  rough-looking  man  came  slowly  from  behind 
the  house,  and  Bud,  with  a  selection  of  dogs  at  his  heels, 
clambered  over  a  piece  of  fence  —  merely  for  the  sake  of 
climbing,  as  there  was  plenty  of  open  space  to  cross. 

The  delegation  insisted  on  my  alighting,  which  I  did  in 
consideration  of  Dora's  mother  being  at  the  head  of  it.  The 
19 


2l8  OVERLAND    TALES. 

family  had  moved  back  here  from  Oatman's  Flat,  where  they 
had  given  Sam  his  Indian  scare  on  our  way  out.  Once  in  the 
house  I  no  longer  wondered  how  she  had  discovered  the  am- 
bulance, with  the  door  closed  and  no  windows  in  the  house. 
The  walls  had  not  been  "chinked."  so  that  between  the  logs 
was  admitted  as  much  light  and  air  as  the  most  fastidious 
could  desire.  All  around  were  the  signs  of  busy  preparation. 
It  was  near  Christmas,  and  they  were  expecting  company  for 
the  holidays  —  a  family  moving  from  Texas  to  California  had 
sent  word  by  some  vehicle  swifter  than  their  ox-teams  that 
they  would  be  with  them  by  Christmas-day. 

Though  the  house  contained  but  this  one  airy  room,  it  was 
neat  and  well  kept.  Just  outside  the  door  there  were  two 
Dutch  ovens,  and  this  was  the  kitchen.  Beyond  the  half- 
fenced  clearing  the  willows  and  cottonwoods  grew  close  by 
the  river,  and  the  mild  December  sun  of  Arizona  lying  on  the 
rude  homestead  seemed  to  give  promise  of  future  peace  and 
well-doing  to  these  who  had  planted  their  roof-tree  on  the 
banks  of  the  Gila. 

The  mother  sent  her  love  and  a  fresh-baked  cake  by  us  to 
her  daughter.  A  loaf  of  the  same  cake  was  given  to  me,  and 
I  can  say  that  it  tasted  better  than  what  I  have  often  eaten  at 
well-set  tables,  though  there  was  no  cow  to  furnish  milk  or 
butter,  and  only  a  few  chickens  to  lay  eggs.  At  Gila  Bend, 
you  remember,  they  had  chickens,  too ;  and  when  I  got  out 
of  the  ambulance  there  some  days  later,  I  stopped  to  admire 
a  brood  of  little  chicks  just  out  of  the  shell. 

"How  pretty  they  are,"  said  I,  looking  up  into  George 
W.'s  honest  face. 

"Ah  !  "  he  exclaimed,  his  eyes  lighting  up,  "but  go  inside, 
to  Dora." 

He  led  the  way  to  the  room,  and  there,  in  a  little  cradle, 
lay  a  sweet,  pretty  girl-baby  —  the  first  white  child,  so  far  as 
history  records,  that  was  ever  born  at  Gila  Bend. 


A  LADY  IN  CAMP. 

CAMP  "Andrew  Jackson,"  in  the  southern  part  of  Ari- 
zona, had  not  always  been  without  that  brightest  star  on 
the  horizon  of  an  army  officer's  outpost  life,  "A  lady 
in  camp."  If  you  happened  to  be  of  sufficiently  good  social 
standing,  and  clever  fellow  enough  to  be  received  and  enter- 
tained by  the  officers  of  the  One  Hundred  and  First  Cavalry 
—  which  had  long  garrisoned  Camp  Andrew  Jackson  —  one 
or  the  other  of  them  might  tell  you,  confidentially,  lounging 
in  a  quartermaster-made  chair  under  the  ramada  of  the  sutler- 
store,  as  far  as  he  knew  it,  the  story  of  this  lady. 

Camp  Andrew  Jackson  was  a  two-company  post ;  and  the 
officers  of  both  companies,  or  the  number  remaining— after  a 
liberal  deduction  by  detached  service,  furlough,  and  sick-list 
— had  congregated  one  day,  years  ago,  to  discuss  the  chances 
of  the  major's  arrival  in  the  course  of  the  night  or  the  follow- 
ing day.  The  place  of  congregating  was  the  sutler-store,  or 
the  ramada  in  front  of  it;  time,  between  "stables"  and  "re- 
treat." 

"Don't  I  tell  you,"  asserted  young  Crumpet,  in  his  most 
emphatic  manner,  "don't  I  tell  you  that  when  I  was  in  Tuc- 
son, the  general  told  me  that  he  should  not  be  able  to  let  the 
major  have  more  than  five  men  and  a  corporal  for  escort 
from  Tucson  out  here;  and  do  you  think  that  Major  Stanford, 
with  that  young  wife  of  his  —  a  shining  mark  for  Apache 
arrows — would  venture  on  the  road,  in  broad  daylight,  with 
this  small  number?  No,  indeed.  I  tell  you  he'll  start  out 
from  Tucson  about  this  time,  reach  Davidson's  Springs  at 

219 


220  OVERLAND    TALES. 

midnight,  and  get  in  here  toward  morning  in  good  order  and 
condition." 

"Seems  to  me  I  should  n't  be  afraid  to  start  out  from  Tuc- 
son, and  go  anywhere  in  broad  daylight,  with  my  wife,"  said 
old  Captain  Manson,  the  post-commander,  grimly. 

An  amused  expression  passed  over  the  faces  of  the  younger 
officers;  everybody  in  camp  knew,  from  hearsay,  if  not  from 
personal  observation,  that  the  captain  and  his  wife  lived  like 
"cats  and  dogs"  when  they  were  together,  and  that  he  would 
probably  have  let  her  go  out  from  Tucson  anywhere,  in  broad 
daylight  and  all  alone,  without  the  slightest  fear  or  compunc- 
tion, had  she  been  in  Arizona. 

"For  my  part,"  continued  Mr.  Crumpet,  who  had  been 
assigned  to  the  One  Hundred  and  First,  and  ordered  to  Ari- 
zona immediately  after  graduating  from  West  Point,  one  year 
ago,  "I  shall  be  rejoiced  to  welcome  a  lady  to  the  camp. 
One  grows  rusty  at  these  outposts  in  the  course  of  years,  with- 
out the  refining  influence  of  ladies'  society — without  oppor- 
tunities of  any  kind  for  cultivating  and  improving  one's  in- 
tellect and  manners." 

"The  One  Hundred  and  First  has  always  had  an  excellent 
library,  embracing  books  suited  to  a  wide  range  of  capacities 
and  intellect,  from  a  'First  Reader'  to  'Corinne'  and  the 
'Cosmos.'  And,  as  far  as  tournure  and  manners  are  con- 
cerned," continued  the  gruff  captain  in  a  lower  tone,  and 
turning  to  the  post-adjutant  beside  him,  "why,  I'm  sure  the 
doctor  and  I  have  made  Chesterfieldian  prodigies  of  Tom, 
the  pup ;  Bruin,  the  grizzly ;  and  Chatter,  the  parrot ! ' ' 

From  the  laugh  that  followed,  the  junior  lieutenant  of  Com- 
pany "F"  knew  that  something  had  been  said  to  create  this 
merriment  at  his  expense ;  but  he  consoled  himself  with  the 
thought  that  "old  Manson"  felt  sore  because  Major  Stanford 
would  relieve  him  in  the  command  of  the  post,  and  probably 
make  him  (Grumpet)  post-adjutant,  as  he  belonged  to  the 


A   LADY  IN  CAMP..  221 

major's  company.  Left  in  command  of  Company  "F"  by 
the  senior  lieutenant's  absence,  and  officer  of  the  day  at  the 
same  time,  Mr.  Grumpet  felt  that  he  had  no  more  time  to 
devote  to  this  class  of  mortals  ;  so,  bidding  them  a  disdainful 
"Adieu,"  he  proceeded  to  his  own  quarters,  where  he  ar- 
ranged sash,  sabre,  and  belt  to  the  greatest  advantage  on  his 
sprightly  person,  and  then  awaited  the  summons  to  the  parade- 
ground. 

Whatever  his  meditations  might  have  been,  as  his  eyes 
wandered  over  the  interminable  sand-waste  before  him,  they 
were  interrupted  by  the  spectacle  of  a  cloud  of  dust  arising 
in  the  distance.  Quickly  returning  to  his  brother  officers,  he 
called  their  attention  to  this  phenomenon. 

"If  it  is  not  a  smoke  that  the  Indians  are  raising  for  a 
signal,  it  must  be  the  major  with  his  party,"  was  Captain 
Manson's  opinion. 

To  Mr.  Grumpet's  infinite  disgust  he  could  not  find  time 
to  argue  this  question  with  his  superior  officer,  for  the  ar- 
bitrary tones  of  the  bugle  called  him  to  the  parade-ground, 
and  when  he  next  found  time  to  contemplate  the  landscape, 
the  major's  outfit  was  already  in  sight  and  slowly  nearing  the 
camp. 

There  is  nothing  martial  in  the  appearance  and  progress  of 
a  military  "outfit,"  unless  accompanied  by  a  command  :  the 
rough,  gaunt  mules  drawing  the  dust-covered  ambulance  or 
carriage,  followed,  as  the  case  may  be,  by  one,  two,  or  three 
heavy  army-wagons ;  the  jaded,  worn  horses  of  the  escort, 
and  the  tired-looking,  travel-stained  men  forming  the  escort, 
make  a  decidedly  demoralized  and  demoralizing  impression 
toward  the  close  of  a  long  journey. 

The  two  occupants  of  the  elegant  travelling-carriage  ac- 
companying this  train  were  in  a  state  of  involuntary  deshabille, 
owing  to  the  sand-storm  through  which  they  had  passed  early 
that  morning,  during  which  the  major's  hat  and  a  number  of 
19* 


222  OVERLAND    TALES. 

Mrs.  Stanford's  veils  and  wraps  had  taken  to  flight.  Marce- 
lita  alone,  seated  beside  the  driver  in  the  front  of  the  carriage, 
had  sustained  no  losses  ;  as  her  rebozo,  the  only  outside  gar- 
ment she  possessed,  had  been  so  tightly  wrapped  around  her 
that  the  storm  had  vented  its  fury  in  vain  on  her  belongings. 

Marcelita  was  one  of  those  moon-faced,  good-natured  Mex- 
ican women  we  meet  with  in  New  Mexico  and  Arizona.  She 
had  probably  decided  in  her  own  mind  —  though  it  was  not 
very  deep  —  that  it  was  just  as  easy  to  smoke  her  rigarritos 
lounging  on  the  floor  of  the  adobe  quarters  of  Camp  Andrew 
Jackson,  earning  thereby  dos  reales  per  day,  and  a  never- 
failing  supply  of  frijoles  con  carne,  as  it  was  to  perform  the 
same  amount  of  labor  in  Tucson,  where  nothing  could  be 
earned  by  it,  and  the  supplies  of  the  dainties  just  mentioned 
were  by  no  means  certain  or  unfailing.  So  Marcelita  became 
Mrs.  Stanford's  maid.  "  Tiring-maid,"  I  should  have  said  ; 
only  I  am  very  certain  Marcelita  would  have  drawn  Mrs.  Stan- 
ford's stockings  on  her  arms,  and  one  of  the  richly  embroid- 
ered petticoats  over  the  plainer-made  dresses,  had  the  attiring 
been  left  to  the  taste  and  judgment  of  this  dusky  child  of  the 
soil. 

Captain  Manson  alone  greeted  the  major  and  his  wife  when 
the  train  drew  up  at  the  commanding  officer's  quarters,  the 
younger  officers  discreetly  awaiting  the  morrow  to  pay  their 
respects.  In  accordance  with  true  "army  spirit,"  Major 
Stanford's  quarters  had  been  furnished  with  the  best  Camp 
Andrew  Jackson  could  boast  of,  in  the  way  .  of  household 
goods  and  furniture,  when  it  had  become  known  that  he  was 
to  bring  a  young  wife  to  camp.  Not  the  officers  of  the  army 
alone  possess  this  knightly  spirit ;  every  soldier  in  the  com- 
mand is  always  ready  and  willing  to  part  with  the  best  and 
dearest  in  his  possession,  to  contribute  to  the  comfort  or 
pleasure  of  "the  lady  in  camp."  Major  Stanford  had  not 
been  with  his  company  since  the  close  of  the  war  •  still,  when 


A   LADY  IN  CAMP.  22$ 

the  captain  courteously  inquired  whether  there  was  any  par- 
ticular individual  in  the  company  whom  he  would  prefer  to 
take  into  his  personal  service,  the  major  requested  that  Holly 
—  who  had  already  been  an  old  soldier,  while  the  major  was 
cadet  at  West  Point  —  might  be  sent  him. 

Holly  demonstrated  his  joy  at  being  thus  distinguished  by 
his  "old  lieutenant;"  and  on  returning  to  the  men's  quar- 
ters had  so  much  to  say  about  the  beauty,  grace,  and  good- 
ness of  the  major's  wife,  that  the  men  immediately  grew 
enthusiastic,  and  before  tattoo  obtained  the  sergeant-major's 
permission  to  serenade  this  first  lady  in  Camp  Andrew  Jack- 
son, providing  a  sufficient  number  of  instruments  could  be 
found.  And  Mrs.  Stanford  was  awakened  from  her  early  slum- 
bers by  "music,"  the  first  night  she  spent  in  this  camp. 

There  are  always  a  number  of  tolerable  musicians  to  be 
found  among  almost  any  body  of  soldiers.  The  One  Hun- 
dred and  First  had  always  been  celebrated  for  the  musical 
talent  in  the  rank  and  file  of  its  members ;  and  though  the 
-  Graces  and  the  Muses  had  been  somewhat  neglected  of  late 
years,  they  threatened  now  to  take  possession  of  every  indi- 
vidual man,  with  truly  alarming  fervor.  Indeed,  Mrs.  Stan- 
ford's life  was  made  very  pleasant  at  this  dreaded  outpost  in 
Arizona  —  albeit  in  a  little,  cheerless  room,  with  mud  walls 
and  mud  floor,  carpeted  half  with  soldier  blankets  half  with 
old  tent-cloth.  A  washstand  of  painted  pine-wood,  and  a 
table  of  the  same  material  in  its  native  color ;  a  bench  to 
match ;  one  .or  two  camp-chairs,  and  a  camp-cot  with  red 
blanket  —  representing  a  sofa  —  made  up  and  completed  the 
ameublement  of  Mrs.  Stanford's  best  room.  But  there  were 
red  calico  curtains  at  the  little  windows,  and  a  bright  rug 
upon  the  table ;  and  books,  and  the  thousand  little  souvenirs 
and  pretty  trifles  always  to  be  found  in  a  lady's  possession, 
were  drawn  out  of  trunks  and  boxes,  and  other  hiding-places, 
to  give  the  room  a  civilized  aspect. 


224  OVERLAND    TALES. 

Still,  it  was  not  pleasant  in  this  close-built  room,  with  the 
door  shut ;  and  open,  the  sand  and  reptiles  drifted  in  promis- 
cuously. It  became  one  of  Marcelita's  chief  duties,  in  time,  to 
examine  the  nooks  and  corners  of  the  apartment  before  closing 
the  door  for  the  night,  to  make  sure  that  no  intrusive  rattle- 
snake had  sought  admittance,  and  to  shake  up  pillows  and 
blankets  before  her  mistress  retired,  to  see  that  neither 
centipede  nor  tarantula  shared  her  couch.  Otherwise  it  was 
tolerable ;  even  young  Crumpet  was  agreeable,  though  he  had 
not  been  made  post-adjutant,  but  he  was  Mrs.  Stanford's 
most  favored  escort  in  her  rides,  and  that  made  up  for  all 
other  losses  and  disappointments. 

The  country  was  not  altogether  a  howling  wilderness, 
either;  though  the  road  that  passed  close  by  the  major's 
quarters  led  into  the  most  desolate,  the  most  Indian-ridden 
part  of  all  Arizona,  still,  at  a  point  where  the  road  made  a 
sudden  fall,  a  narrow  path  branched  off,  and  ran  immediately 
into  a  little  valley,  where  grass  and  wild  flowers  were  kept 
fresh  and  blooming,  by  the  spring  at  the  foot  of  the  hill.  It 
was  an  oasis  such  as  is  frequently  found  in  Arizona,  more 
particularly  at  the  foot  of  the  mountain  ranges  ;  and  to  this 
spot  Mrs.  Stanford,  accompanied  by  the  major,  Marcelita,  or 
some  one  of  the  gentlemen,  often  bent  her  steps,  at  times 
when  no  Indians  were  apprehended  in  the  vicinity  of  the  post. 
The  evenings  at  the  garrison  were  dedicated  to  quiet  games 
of  whist,  or  interchange  of  the  various  news  of  the  day.  On 
Tuesdays,  these  conversations  were  liveliest ;  for  the  mail 
came  in  from  Tucson  on  that  day,  and  letters  from  the  dif- 
ferent outposts  and  the  East  were  received  and  discussed. 

One  Tuesday  there  was,  among  the  official  papers  laid  on 
the  post-commander's  desk,  an  order  from  Department  Head- 
quarters directing  that  provision  be  made  for  furnishing  quar- 
ters to  a  company  of  infantry.  Camp  Andrew  Jackson  was 
to  be  made  a  three-company  post,  on  account  of  the  growing 


A    LADY  IN  CAMP,  22$ 

depredations  of  the  hostile  tribes  of  Indians.  It  was  not  until 
weeks  afterward  that  any  speculations  were  indulged  as  to 
what  company,  of  what  regiment,  had  been  assigned  to  the! 
post ;  but  at  the  hospitable  board  of  the  major's  one  evening, 
after  a  late  tea,  it  was  the  irrepressible  Grumpet  who  pro- 
claimed that  he  knew  to  a  certainty  all  about  the  matter  in 
question.  Company  "H"  of  the  Forty-third  Infantry  was 
coming,  and  had  already  reached  Fort  Yuma,  en  route  to 
Camp  Lowell  (Tucson). 

"Then  Crabtree  is  in  command  of  the  company;  or  has 
Captain  Howell  been  relieved  ?  He  was  on  detached  service 
in  Washington,  the  last  I  heard  from  him,"  remarked  Major 
Stanford.  But  Mr.  Grumpet  interrupted  : 

"  There  you  are  wfong,  again  ;  Crabtree  is  not  with  them 
at  all." 

"Why,  how's  that?  "  was  asked  from  all  sides;  even  Mrs. 
Stanford  had  looked  up. 

Whenever  Grumpet  had  a  good  thing  he  always  made  the 
most  of  it ;  and  it  was  irresistibly  charming  to  let  Mrs.  Stan- 
ford see  that  he  knew  more  than  all  the  rest  put  together. 

"Ahem!  Mr.  Crabtree,  senior  lieutenant  of  Company 
'H,'  Forty-third  Infantry,  has  exchanged,  with  the  sanction 
of  the  War  Department,  with  Mr.  Addison — Charlie  Addison, 
you  know  —  of  Company  '  D,'  Sixty-fifth  Infantry."  , 

In  an  "aside  "  to  himself,  he  continued:  "Well,  I  declare! 
I  've  astonished  Mrs.  Stanford  by  my  superior  knowledge. 
Why,  she  's  actually -staring  at  me." 

So  she  was ;  or,  at  least,  her  eyes  were  wide  open,  and  her 
face  was  pale  as  death. 

"Are  you  sick,  Eva,  my  child?"  asked  the  major;  "or  do 
you  see  anything  that  frightens  you?" 

"  Neither,"  she  answered,  passing  her  hand  over  her  face; 
"only  tired  a  little." 

"  There,"  put  in  the  doctor,  "  I  thought  Mrs.  Stanford  had 
P 


226  OVERLAND    TALES. 

baked  those  tarts  and  prepared  the  salad,  with  her  own  hands, 
to-day,  and  now  I  am  certain  of  it ;  and  I  prescribe  that  the 
gentlemen  immediately  depart  from  here,  and  leave  Mrs. 
Stanford  to  rest,  and  her  own  reflections." 

Her  own  reflections !  They  crowded  on  her  fast  and 
unbidden,  when  left  alone  by  her  husband  and  the  rest  of  the 
officers.  Marcelita,  after  having  repeatedly  assured  her  mis- 
tress that  the  house  was  free  from  invading  vermin,  had 
settled  down  on  the  floor,  with  her  back  against  the  wall, 
when  she  found  that  Eva  paid  no  heed  to  what  she  said. 
After  awhile  she  grew  bolder,  and  lighted  and  smoked 
cigarritos,  enjoying  them  to  her  heart's  content,  while  Eva 
was  enjoying  "her  own  reflections." 

"  My  dear  child,  did  I  stay  out  late?  We  all  went  into 
the  sutler's  a  little  while,  after  taps.  Did  you  sit  up  to  wait 
for  me?"  asked  the  major,  kindly,  breaking  in  on  Eva's 
reflections. 

Marcelita  had  started  up  out  of  a  sound  sleep  when  the 
major  had  first  entered  the  room,  and  she  rolled  into  her  own 
little  tent  now,  into  her  bed,  and  back  into  the  arms  of  the 
drowsy  god,  without  once  thinking  of  scorpion  or  tarantula. 

Weeks  passed  before  any  more  tidings  of  the  Forty-third 
were  heard ;  then  they  entered  Camp  Andrew  Jackson  one 
day — not  with  fife  and  drum,  and  colors  flying,  but  silently, 
quietly;  with  shoulders  stooping  under  the  load  of  knapsack 
and  musket  —  packed  all  day  long  through  scorching  sun  and 
ankle- deep  sand.  It  was  not  till  Eva  saw  the  line  of  tents 
newly  pitched,  on  the  following  day,  that  she  knew  of  the 
arrival. 

"Yes,"  said  the  major,  "they  have  come;  but  both  Cap- 
tain Rowland  and  Lieutenant  Addison  appear  very  reserved. 
I  don't  think  either  of  them  will  call  till  a  formal  invitation 
has  been  extended  them.  Perhaps  we  had  better  invite  them 
all  to  dinner  some  day— that  will  place  them  at  their  ease  to 
visit  here,  later." 


A   LADY  IN  CAMP.  22/ 

Invitations,  accordingly,  were  issued  for  a  certain  day;  but 
the  Fates  so  willed  it  that  the  horses  of  Company  "  F  "  were 
stampeded  from  the  picket-line  by  a  band  of  Apaches,  during 
the  night  preceding  ;  and  Arroyos,  the  guide,  expressed  his 
conviction  that  he  could  lead  the  troops  to  the  rancheria 
of  these  Indians,  and  recover  the  horses  taken.  Although 
Major  Stanford's  position  as  post-commander  would  have 
justified  him  in  sending  some  subaltern  officer,  he  preferred 
to  take  charge  of  the  expedition  in  person,  leaving  the  post 
in  Captain  Manson's  hands. 

"You  look  pale,  child,"  said  Major  Stanford,  bidding  Eva 
farewell,  while  the  orderly  was  holding  his  horse  outside. 
"  I  am  almost  glad,  on  your  account,  that  the  dinner-party 
could  be  put  off.  Your  color  has  been  fading  for  weeks,  and 
if  you  do  not  brighten  up  soon,  I  shall  have  to  send  you  back 
home,  to  your  aunt."  And  tenderly  smoothing  the  glossy 
hair  back  from  her  face,  he  kissed  it  again  and  again,  before 
vaulting  into  the  saddle. 

Accompanied  by  Marcelita  alone,  Eva,  toward  evening,  set 
out  on  her  usual  ramble,  following  the  road  from  which  the 
path  branched  off,  leading  into  the  valley.  At  the  point 
where  the  road  falls  off  toward  Tucson,  she  stopped  before 
taking  the  path  that  led  to  the  spring,  and  cast  a  long,  shiver- 
ing look  around  her.  Wearily  her  eyes  roamed  over  the 
desolate  land ;  wearily  they  followed  the  road,  with  its  count- 
less windings,  far  into  the  level  country;  wearily  they  watched 
the  flight  of  a  solitary  crow,  flapping  its  wings  as  it  hovered, 
with  a  doleful  cry,  over  the  one,  single  tree  on  the  plain, 
that  held  its  ragged  branches  up  to  the  sky,  as  though  plead- 
ing for  the  dews  of  heaven  to  nurture  and  expand  its  stunted 
growth.  An  endless,  dreary  waste  —  an  infinitude  of  hope- 
less, changeless  desert  —  a  hard,  yellow  crust,  where  the  wind 
had  left  it  bare  from  sand,  above  which  the  air  was  still 
vibrating  from  the  heat  of  the  day,  though  the  breeze  that 


228  OVERLA ND    TALES. 

came  with  the  sunset  had  already  sprung  up ;  the  only  verdure 
an  occasional  bush  of  grease-wood,  or  mesquite,  with  never 
a  blade  of  grass,  nor  a  bunch  of  weeds,  in  the  wide  spaces 
between.  • 

Farther  on  to  her  right,  she  could  see  the  rough,  frowning 
rocks  in  the  mountain  yonder,  looking  as  though  evil  spirits 
had  piled. them  there,  in  well-arranged  confusion,  to  prevent 
the  children  of  earth  from  taking  possession  of  its  steep 
heights,  and  its  jealously-hidden  treasures. 

Grand,  and  lonely,  and  desolate  looked  the  mountain,  and 
lonely  and  desolate  looked  tjie  plain,  as  Eva  stood  there,  her 
hands  folded  and  drooping,  the  light  wind  tossing  her  hair, 
and  fluttering  and  playing  in  the  folds  of  her  dress.  It  was 
the  picture  of  her  own  life  unfolding  before  her :  lone,  and 
drear,  and  barren ;  without  change  or  relief,  without  verdure, 
or  blossom,  or  goodly  springs  of  crystal  water;  the  arid 
desert  —  her  life,  dragging  its  slow  length  along ;  the  frown- 
ing mountain  —  her  duties,  and  the  unavoidable  tasks  that 
life  imposed  on  her. 

With  a  sigh  she  turned  from  both.  Before  her  lay  the  cool 
valley,  sheltered  from  careless  eyes,  and  from  the  sand  and 
dust  of  the  road  and  the  country  beyond.  Very  small  was 
the  valley  of  the  spring,  with  its  laughing  flowers  and  shady 
trees  —  like  the  one  leaf  from  the  volume  of  her  memory  that 
was  tinted  with  the  color  of  the  rose  and  the  sunbeam. 

"And  up  the  valley  came  the  swell  of  music  on  the  wind  " 
—  bringing  back  scenes  on  which  the  sun  had  thrown  its  glo- 
rious parting  rays  in  times  past,  when  life  had  seemed  bright, 
and  full  of  promise  and  inexhaustible  joy.  But  she  brought 
her  face  resolutely  back  to  the  desert  and  the  mountain. 

She  walked  on  rapidly  toward  the  spring  where.  Marcelita 
had  spread  her  rebozo  on  the  trunk  of  a  fallen  tree,  before 
starting  out  to  gather  the  flowers  that  grew  in  the  valley. 

Almost  exhausted,  Eva  had  seated  herself  on  the  improvised 


A   LADY  IN  CA  M  P.  22g 

couch,  but  was  startled  by  a  step  beside  "her.  Was  it  a  spirit 
conjured  up  by  the  flood  of  memories  surging  through  her 
breast  that  stood  before  her? 

"Eva!" 

"  Charlie,  oh,  Charlie  !  have  you  come  at  last?"  But  al- 
ready the  spell  was  broken. 

"I  cannot  think  why  Lieutenant  Addison  should  wish  to 
surprise  me  here.  Would  it  not  be  more  fitting  to  visit  our 
quarters,  if  he  felt  constrained  to  comply  with  the  etiquette 
of  the  garrison  ?  " 

"For  God's  sake,  Eva,"  he  cried,  passionately,  "listen  to 
me  one  moment ;  grant  that  I  may  speak  to  you  once  more  as 
Eva  —  not  as  the  wife  of  Major  Stanford.  Let  me  hear  the 
truth  from  your  own  lips.  Eva,  I  have  come  here,  to  this 
horrible,  horrible  country,  because  I  knew  you  were  here.  I 
came  here  to  see  you  —  to  learn  from  you  why  you  were  false 
to  me ;  why  you  spurned  my  love  —  the  deepest  and  truest 
man  ever  felt  for  woman — and  then  to  die" 

He  had  thrown  his  cap,  marked  with  the  insignia  of  his 
rank  and  calling,  into  the  grass  at  his  feet ;  and  the  last  rays 
of  the  sun,  falling  aslant  on  his  rich,  brown  hair,  made  it 
bright  and  golden  again,  as  Eva  so  well  remembered  it. 

"  False  !  "  she  repeated,  slowly,  as  though  her  tongue  re- 
fused to  frame  the  accusation  against  him;  "you -were  false 
—  not  I.  Or  was  it  not  deceiving  me  —  to  tell  me  of  your 
love ;  to  promise  faith  and  constancy  to  me  while  carrying  on 
a  flirtation  —  a  correspondence  with  another  woman?  " 

"You  cannot  believe  that,  Eva,  any  more  than  I  could 
believe  what  Abby  Hamilton  told  me  —  that  you  had  left  your 
aunt's  house  without  telling  me  of  it,  purposely  to  avoid  me 
and  break  every  tie  between  us  —  till  a  package,  containing 
all  my  letters  to  you,  was  handed  me  the  day  we  marched  from 
Fort  Leavenworth." 

"  Those  letters  had  been  taken  from  my  desk  in  my  absence. 


230  OVERLAND    TALES. 

But  I  had  intrusted  Abby  with  a  note  for  you,  when  I  was 
called  to  my  sister's  bedside.  And,  was  it  not  Abby  with 
whom  you  were  seen  riding?  " 

"Yes  —  to  meet  you  at  Mr.  Redpath's  farm;  and  I  after- 
ward sent  you  a  note,  through  her,  to  which  there  came  no 
answer  save  that  package  of  my  own  letters." 

"  Why,  then,  did  you  go  from  me?  Had  you  so  little  faith 
in  me,  so  little  love  for  me,  that  you  could  make  no  effort  to 
see  me?  Was  it  so  great  a  task  to  write  me  a  few,  short 
lines!" 

"Then  none  of  my  letters  have  ever  reached  you?  Oh, 
Eva,  my  darling  —  my  lost  one  —  can  you  not  feel  how  my 
heart  was  wrung,  how  every  drop  of  blood  was  turned  into  a 
scorching  tear,  searing  my  brain  and  eating  my  life  away, 
when  day  after  day  passed,  and  no  tidings  came  from  you? 
I  was  on  the  point  of  deserting  the  command,  of  bringing 
ruin  and  disgrace  on  myself,  when  a  brain  fever  put  an  end  to 
my  misery  for  the  time,  and  I  was  carried  to  Fort  Lyons,  as 
they  thought,  only  to  be  buried  there.  When  I  returned  to 
Leavenworth  on  sick-leave,  I  was  told  you  were  gone,  and 
your  aunt  took  good  care  not  to  let  me  know  where  to  find 
you.  She  had  never  liked  me ;  but  I  could  forgive  her  cruelty 
to  me,  did  not  your  wan  face  and  weary  eyes  tell  me  that  my 
darling  girl  has  not  found  the  happiness  I  should  have  sacri- 
ficed my  own  to  have  purchased  for  her." 

Eva  bowed  her  face  in  her  hands,  and  deep  sobs  seemed  to 
rend  her  very  soul,  but  no  word  passed  her  lips. 

"Then  your  life  has  been  made  a  wreck,  as  well  as  my  own, 
Eva?"  he  continued,  wildly,  almost  fiercely.  "Is  it  right 
that  it  should  be  so :  that  we  should  be  robbed  of  all  that 
makes  life  sweet  and  desirable,  by  the  wicked  acts  of  others  ? 
Must  we  submit?  Is  it  too  late  —  " 

"Too  late,"  echoed  Eva;  "you  forget  that  I  am  the  wife 
of  another.  We  must  submit.  Do  not  make  the  task  harder 


A  LADY  IN  CAMP.  2^1 

for  me  than  it  is,  Charlie ;  promise  never,  never  to  come  to 
me  again." 

"I  promise,"  he  said,  kneeling  beside  her,  and  bending 
over  her  hand.  "  Here  at  your  feet  ends  my  wasted  life ;  for 
I  swear  to  you  that  I  will  never  go  back  into  the  world  that 
lies  beyond  this  camp.  But  if  you  believe  now  that  I  have 
been  true  to  you  and  to  my  faith,  then  lay  your  hand  on  my 
head  once  again,  as  you  did  years  ago,  before  we  part  for- 
ever. ' ' 

"Forever."  For  an  instant  the  hand  he  had  reverently 
kissed  was  laid  lovingly  on  his  soft,  wavy  hair;  then  Eva 
arose,  leaving  him  with  his  face  buried  in  the  damp  grass, 
and  the  shades  of  night  fast  gathering  around  him. 

An  orderly  with  a  letter  for  Mrs.  Stanford  had  been  wait- 
ing for  some  time  at  the  quarters.  It  was  from  Major  Stan- 
ford. 

"You  went  out  with  the  major  this  morning,  did  you  not, 
Tarleton  ?  ' '  she  asked  of  the  man. 

"Yes,  madame;  and  the  major  sent  me  back  with  dis- 
patches for  Captain  Manson,  and  this  letter  for  you." 

The  major  wrote  :  "Arroyos'  opinion,  after  closely  examin- 
ing the  tracks  of  the  absconding  Indians,  is,  that  we  had  bet- 
ter wait  for  reinforcements  before  attacking  their  rancheria. 
Keep  Marcelita  in  your  room.  I  know  how  timid  you  are. 
If  you  prefer  to  have  a  guard  nearer  to  your  quarters,  send 
your  compliments  to  Captain  Manson  —  he  has  my  instruc- 
tions. We  shall  probably  return  to-morrow,  by  sundown. 
Till  then,  'be  of  good  cheer.'  " 

"There  are  more  men  to  be  sent  out  to-night?"  asked 
Eva  of  the  gray-headed  soldier.  She  had  always  shown  par- 
ticular regard  for  this  man ;  so  he  answered  more  at  length 
than  he  would  have  ventured  to  do  under  other  circumstances. 

"Yes,  madame;  and  I  heard  the  men 'say  down  at  the 
quarters,  that  the  new  lieutenant  who  came  with  the  infantry 
was  to  take  charge  of  the  scout." 


232  OVERLAND    TALES. 

"  Very  well ;  tell  Holly  to  give  you  a  cup  of  tea  and  some- 
thing to  eat.  Say  to  the  major  that  I  shall  not  be  afraid  to- 
night." 

"Thank  you,  madame."  And  with  a  military  salute,  he 
retired. 

Her  husband's  letter  lay  unheeded  on  the  table,  and  Eva 
was  still  in  the  dark  when  Captain  Manson  entered  the  room, 
some  time  later.  Marcelita  brought  candles ;  and  the  captain, 
pointing  to  the  letter,  said  : 

"  The  major  is  very  anxious  that  you  should  not  feel  the 
slightest  fear  to-night.  I  hope  you  have  worded  your  answer 
so  that  he  will  not  have  any  uneasiness  on  your  account." 

"  I  sent  word  that  I  should  not  be  afraid." 

"  Nevertheless,  I  shall  place  a  sentinel  near  your  quarters, 
if  I  possibly  can.  To  tell  the  truth,  Major  Stanford  has 
ordered  out  more  men  than  /  should  ever  have  sent  away 
from  the  post.  If  Arroyos  was  not  so  confident  that  all  the 
red  devils  are  engaged  in  that  one  direction,  I  should  have 
advised  the  major  to  leave  more  men  here.  But  you  need 
have  no  fears." 

The  sound  of  the  bugle  and  the  tramp  of  horses  inter- 
rupted him. 

"  The  command  is  going  out ;  they  will  reach  the  major 
some  time  during  the  night.  Can't  think  what  on  earth 
brought  that  youngster  —  Addison  —  out  here.  Been  anx- 
ious to  go  on  an  Indian  scout,  too,  ever  since  he  came :  he  '11 
cry  '  enough '  before  he  gets  back,  this  time,  I'll  warrant  you. 
The  clang  of  those  cavalry  trumpets  is  horrible,  isn't  it;  cuts 
right  through  your  head,  don't  it?  " 

Eva  had  dropped  her  hands  almost  as  quickly  as  she  had 
raised  them  to  her  temples ;  and  with  her  face  shaded  from 
the  light,  she  silently  looked  on  the  cavalcade  that  passed 
along  under  the  mellow  light  of  the  new  moon. 

She  sat  there  long  after  the  captain  had  left  her ;  she  sat 


A    LADY  IN  CAMP.  233 

there  still  when  the  early  moon  had  gone  down,  and  Mar- 
celita  had  closed  the  door  before  resorting  to  her  favorite  seat 
on  the  floor,  with  her  back  against  the  wall,  from  where  she 
watched  her  mistress  with  eyes  growing  smaller  and  smaller, 
till  they  closed  at  last.  The  wind  had  risen  again,  and  was 
blowing  fitfully  around  the  corners  of  the  adobe  buildings, 
causing  the  sentinel  on  his  lonely  beat  to  draw  his  cap  firmer 
down  on  his  head.  It  was  just  such  a  gusty,  blustering  wind 
as  would  make  the  cry  of  the  watchful  guard  appear  to  come 
from  all  sorts  of  impossible  directions,  when  "  ten  o'clock 
and  all  is  well "  was  sung  out.  A  dismal  howl,  as  though 
hundreds  of  coyotes  were  taking  up  the  refrain,  answered  the 
cry ;  and  then  the  clamoring  and  yelping  always  following 
the  first  howl  was  carried  farther  and  farther  away  till  it  died 
in  the  distance. 

Marcelita  shook  herself  in  her  sleep.  "Holy  Virgin  protect 
us,  they  are  the  Indians,"  she  muttered,  with  her  eyes  closed. 

Eva  had  drawn  her  shawl  closer  around  her ;  but  neither 
the  wild  night  nor  the  doleful  music  had  any  terror  for  her ; 
she  only  felt  "her  life  was  dreary,",  while  listening  to  "the 
shrill  winds  that  were  up  and  away." 

Silence  and  darkness  had  once  more  settled  on  the  camp; 
but  the  silence  was  suddenly  rent  by  fierce,  unearthly  sounds  : 
yells  and  shrieks,  such  as  only  hell,  or  its  legitimate  child, 
the  savage  Indian,  could  give  utterance  to ;  shouts  of  triumph 
and  exultation  that  made  Eva's  blood  run  cold  with  horror. 
Marcelita  had  started  to  her  feet  at  the  first  sound,  and  was 
tearing  her  hair  wildly,  as  she  repeated,  in  a  paroxysm  of 
terror,  "The  Indians,  the  Indians  !  Oh,  saints  of  heaven,  pro- 
tect us?"  The  darkness  was  broken  by  little  flashes  of  light, 
where  the  sentinels,  some  of  them  already  in  the  death- 
struggle,  were  firing  their  muskets  in  warning  or  in  self- 
defence.  A  sharp  knocking  on  the  door,  and  voices  outside, 
brought  Eva  there. 


234  OVERLAND    TALES. 

"Open,  madame,  quick:  there  is  no  time  to  be  lost"  — 
it  was  Holly's  voice — "  they  have  attacked  the  men's  quarters 
first,  and  we  can  reach  head-quarters  and  the  adjutant's  office 
from  this  side.  It  is  the  only  safe  place;  but  quick,  quick." 
And  between  them  —  the  man  who  had  been  on  guard  near 
the  house  and  the  faithful  Holly — they  almost  dragged  Eva 
from  the  room,  and  hurried  her  into  the  darkness  outside. 

The  elevation  to  which  exalted  rank  of  any  kind  raises  us, 
is  always  more  or  less  isolation  from  our  fellow-beings.  Major 
Stanford's,  as  commanding  officer's  quarters,  were  some  dis- 
tance from  those  of  the  other  officers,  and  the  space  that  lay 
between  them  proved  fatal  to  Eva's  safety. 

Every  single  verde-bush  seemed  suddenly  alive  with  yelling 
demons,  when  the  little  party  had  fairly  left  the  shelter  of  the 
house  behind  them. 

Holly  had  no  arms,  and  the  other  soldier  had  been  lanced 
through  the  body;  still  Eva  pursued  her  way,  and  could 
already  distinguish  Mr.  Grumpet's  voice  cheering  the  small 
number  of  men  on  to  resistance,  when  a  whizzing  sound 
passed  close  by  her  ear,  and  the  next  moment  she  found  her 
arms  pinioned  to  her  body  by  the  lariat  thrown  over  her 
head,  and  felt  herself  dragged  rapidly  over  the  ground,  till 
dexter  hands  caught  and  lifted  her  on  the  back  of  a  horse. 
Here  she  was  held  as  in  a  vice,  and  carried  away  so  swiftly 
that  Marcelita's  screams  and  Holly's  curses  —  heard  for  a 
moment  above  all  the  din  and  confusion  of  the  impromptu 
battle-field  —  soon  died  away  in  the  distance,  as  her  captor 
urged  his  animal  to  its  utmost  speed. 

On  dashed  the  horse ;  the  angry  winds  tore  her  hair,  and 
the  spiteful  thorns  of  the  mesquite  caught  her  flowing  robes, 
and  rudely  tore  her  flesh  till  she  bled  from  a  thousand  little 
wounds,  but  not  a  moan  or  murmur  escaped '  her  lips.  A 
merciful  fit  of  unconsciousness  at  last  overtook  her;  and, 
when  she  awoke,  she  found  herself  on  the  ground,  her  wrists 


A   LADY  IN  CAMP.  235 

fettered  by  sharp  thongs,  that  were  cutting  deep  into  the 
tender,  white  flesh.  The  first  faint  glimmer  of  light  was 
breaking  in  the  East ;  and  Eva  could  see  that  quite  a  number 
of  Indians  had  met  here,  and  were  evidently  in  deep  consulta- 
tion on  some  subject  of  vast  importance ;  for  even  the  savage 
who  was  cowering  close  beside  her,  as  though  to  watch  her, 
was  leaning  forward  to  catch  the  conversation,  with  an  intent 
and  absorbed  air. 

They  had  made  their  way  into  the  mountains,  as  the 
Apaches  always  do  after  a  successful  raid ;  for  the  less  agile 
horses  of  our  cavalry  cannot  follow  their  goat-like  ponies  on 
paths  and  trails  known  only  to  the  Indians. 

Perhaps  Eva  was  even  now  lying  among  the  rocks  and 
bowlders  that  had  looked  down  on  her  so  frowningly  yester- 
day at  sunset ;  perhaps,  even  then  had  the  foe  into  whose 
hands  she  had  fallen  marked  her  for  his  prey,  as  he  watched 
and  counted  —  unobserved  by  the  less  keen  eyes  of  his 
"white  brethren" — all  the  chances  for  and  against  the 
success  of  a  sudden  onslaught. 

From  the  little  flat  where  they  were  halting,  Eva  could 
catch  just  one  glimpse  of  the  country  at  the  foot  of  the  moun- 
tain ;  and  from  it  she  could  see  —  though  the  mist  had  not 
yet  cleared  away — that  they  must  have  ascended  to  a  con- 
siderable height.  Broken,  jagged  rocks  inclosed  them  on  all 
sides ;  a  stunted  tree  or  overgrown  cactus,  here  and  there, 
springing  into  sight  as  the  light  grew  in  the  east.  A  heavy 
dew  had  fallen,  and  Eva  was  so  chilled  that  she  could  not 
have  made  use  of  her  hands,  had  they  been  unfettered.  The 
watchful  Indian  had  noticed  the  shiver  that  ran  through  her 
frame,  and  his  eyes  were  fixed  on  her  face,  to  discover  if 
consciousness  had  returned.  But  his  eyes  wandered  from 
Eva's  face  directly,  and  travelled  in  the  direction  of  the 
narrow  trail  by  which  they  had  come,  winding  around  the 
wall  of  rock,  behind  which  the  deliberating  savages  were 


236  OVERLAND    TALES. 

seated  in  a  circle,  Indian  fashion,  their  legs  crossed.  At  a 
little  distance  could  be  seen  their  horses,  nibbling  the  scant 
grass  the  mountain  afforded  —  and  one  of  these,  perhaps,  had 
loosened  the  little  stone  that  rolled  down  the  side  of  the 
mountain. 

So  the  Indian  mounting  guard  over  Eva  appeared  to  think 
at  least,  for  he  again  turned  his  attention  to  the  proceedings 
of  the  council,  when  suddenly  there  came  the  warning  of 
their  sentinel  on  the  rock  above  them,  and  simultaneously 
the  shout  of  "  On  them,  my  men  !  down  with  them  !  She  is 
here  !  she  is  safe  !  " 

Eva's  guard  uttered  one  yell  before  Lieutenant  Addison's 
ball  laid  him  in  the  dust ;  but  a  dozen  arrows  were  already 
aimed  at  Charlie's  heart. 

"  Eva  !  "  he  cried,  "  Eva,  have  courage;  I  am  coming,  I 
am  near  you  ! ' ' 

So  near  that  she  could  see  where  the  arrow  had  struck  his 
side,  and  the  blue  coat  was  fast  growing  purple  from  the  blood 
that  followed  where  the  arrow  in  its  flight  had  made  that 
ugly  gash.  So  near  that  she  could  realize  how  desperate  was 
the  struggle  between  him  and  the  half-naked,  light-footed 
horde  that  disputed  every  step  to  Eva's  side,  literally  at  the 
point  of  the  lance. 

But  the  soldiers  were  not  far  behind  ;  and  with  the  strength 
that  comes  only  of  love  or  despair,  the  young  man  reached 
Eva's  side  at  last.  She  had  not  fainted  —  much  as  my  lady 
readers  may  upbraid  her  for  this  omission  of  the  proprieties 
—  but  held  up  her  poor,  fettered  hands  to  him  with  a  look 
for  which  he  would  have  laid  down  his  life  a  thousand  times 
over. 

"  You  are  free  !  "  he  cried,  loosening  her  fetters  with  trem- 
bling hands ;  "  you  are  free  !  And  if  I  have  broken  my 
promise  —  if  I  have  come  to  you  again  —  I  have  come  only 
to  die  at  your  feet." 


THE  GOLDEN  LAMB. 

OH,  dear  !  this  is  one  of  her  tantrums  again  !  " 
"  Well,  she  is  the  funniest  girl  I  ever  did  see." 
"And  it  is  only  because  I  laughed  at  the  way  the  for- 
lorn old  maid,  whom  she  calls  her  dressmaker,  had  hunched 
that  lovely  lavender  till  it  looks  like  a  fright." 

"  See  how  she's  jerking  it,  to  make  it  fit." 

"  Hush,  girls,"  broke  in  the  mother;  "  that  is  not  the  way 
to  improve  her  disposition.  Don't  be  watching  her;  look 
out  here  at  the  window;  see  the  number  of  sails  coming  in 
through  the  Golden  Gate  this  morning." 

The  view  from  the  bay-window  in  the  second  story  front, 
which  was  used  as  a  sitting-room  for  the  ladies  of  the  family, 
was  certainly  very  grand  this  bright  December  morning,  when 
the  sun,  shining  from  an  unclouded  sky,  kissed  the  waters  of 
the  bay  till  they  looked  as  clear  as  the  heavens  above,  with 
millions  of  little  golden  stars  rippling  and  flashing  on  the  blue 
surface.  But  far  more  attractive  to  the  two  young  ladies,  who 
pretended  to  be  counting  the  vessels  in  sight,  was  the  view  in 
the  back-ground  of  the  room,  where  a  slender,  petite  figure, 
with  head  half-defiantly  thrown  back,  was  noting  in  the  tall 
pier-glass  the  effects  of  the  changes  her  quick  fingers  made  in 
the  lavender  robe,  whose  silken  folds  were  sweeping  the  car- 
pet. The  head  was  crowned  with  a  glory  of  the  brightest, 
lightest  golden  hair,  while  the  eyes,  flashing  proudly  from 
under  the  long  silken  lashes,  were  darker  than  midnight.  Yet 
the  sparkle  and  the  laughter  of  the  noonday  sun  were  in  them, 
when  the  cloud,  just  now  resting  on  the  child-like  brow,  was 
dispelled  by  a  kind  word  or  a  sympathetic  touch. 

237 


238  OVERLAND    TALES. 

"There,  Lola  —  it  is  perfect  now,"  said  Mrs.  Wheaton, 
turning  to  her  youngest  daughter,  and  thus  breaking  the  seal 
laid  on  the  lips  of  her  two  older  ones. 

Matilda,  good-hearted,  and  really  loving  her  sister,  in  spite 
of  her  greater  beauty  and  her  "strange  ways,"  meant  to 
improve  the  opportunity. 

"Yes,  indeed,  Lola;  and  I've  a  good  mind  to  let  Miss 
Myrick  make  up  my  olive-green  after  New- Year's.  I  really 
think  that  if  I  take  as  much  pains  as  you  do,  and  go  there 
twice  a  day  to  show  her,  she  will  be  able  to  fit  me  splendidly. 
Don't  you  think  so?  " 

Lola  gave  her  sister  a  curious  look  while  she  spoke,  her  face 
flushed,  and  after  a  disturbed  expression  had  flitted  over  it 
the  hardly  banished  frown  seemed  ready  to  come  back.  "  I 
don't  know  what  Miss  Myrick  would  want  with  you  twice  a 
day;  I  don't  go  there  twice  a  day,  I  'm  sure." 

"Oh,  I  was  only  thinking  —  well,  you  are  the  strangest 
girl."  Miss  Matilda  would  have  been  offended,  probably, 
had  her  sister  given  her  time  ;  but  Lola's  hands  were  already 
gliding  over  her  hair,  removing  hair-pins,  switches,  and  other 
appendages  from  the  elder  young  lady's  head. 

"  Let  me  show  you  how  I  mean  to  dress  your  hair  on  New- 
Year's  eve,"  said  Lola,  and  peace  was  made.  To  have  her 
hair  done  up  by  Lola  was  always  an  object  worth  attaining  — 
no  one  else  could  make  Miss  Matilda's  angular  head  appear 
so  well-shaped  as  she. 

Miss  Fanny  meanwhile  had  picked  up  a  book  and  thrown 
herself  on  the  lounge  to  read,  but  combs  and  combing  mate- 
rial having  been  brought  in  from  an  adjoining  room  she  soon 
became  interested  in  the  braids  and  twists  with  which  her 
sister's  head  was  being  adorned.  During  the  progress  of  the 
work,  she,  as  well  as  the  mother,  threw  in  suggestions,  or 
made  criticisms  with  a  freedom  which  sometimes  caused  the 
short  upper  lip  of  the  fair  hair-dresser  to  be  drawn  up  until  the 


THE    GOLDEN  LAMB.  239 

milk-white  teeth  shone  out  from  under  it,  though  she  re- 
sponded with  the  utmost  amiability  to  the  hints  thrown  out 
and  the  advice  so  lavishly  given.  The  mother  had  never 
allowed  an  opportunity  like  this  to  pass  without  "  improving 
her  daughters'  disposition,"  as  she  termed  it  —  striving 
honestly  so  to  do  by  trying  the  somewhat  quick  temper  of 
the  impulsive,  affectionate  child.  Because  the  girl's  eyes 
flashed  fire  and  her  lips  curled  haughtily  when  any  fancied 
slight  was  put  upon  her,  as  she  thought  her  shy  but  loving 
advances  were  repulsed,  the  family  had  come  to  look  upon 
the  youngest  born  as  having  a  bad  disposition,  when  really  a 
more  amiable  child  than  little  Lola  had  never  grown  into 
womanhood. 

"  She  "s  an  odd  one,  and  always  has  been  ever  since  they 
gave  her  that  outlandish  name,"  the  father  would  say,  stroking 
his  slender  stock  of  reddish-white  hair  from  his  forehead  till 
it  stood  straight  up  like  a  sentinel  guarding  the  bald  pate  just 
back  of  it;  "she  don't  look  like  the  rest,  and  don't  act  like 
'em,  either,  though  I  spent  more  money  on  her  education 
than  both  her  sisters  put  together  ever  cost  me." 

What  he  said  about  Lola's  looks  was  true ;  the  other  two 
daughters  had  inherited  from  him  their  water-blue  eyes  and 
florid  complexions,  while  Lola  had  the  eyes  of  her  mother  — 
so  far  as  the  color  went.  But  could  the  pale,  quiet  woman 
ever  have  known  the  deep,  intense  feeling,  or  the  heartfelt, 
open  joyousness  that  spoke  from  her  daughter's  eyes?  Who 
could  tell?  She  had  come  to  California  in  early  days  a  sad- 
eyed,  lonely  woman,  and  —  she  had  not  married  her  first  love. 

Her  name  Lola  owed  to  the  only  romantic  notion  her 
mother  ever  had,  as  her  father  said.  When  the  child  had 
grown  to  be  two  or  three  years  old,  and  Mrs.  Wheaton  had 
noted  but  too  often  the  dreary  look  that  would  creep  into  her 
eyes,  even  at  this  tender  age,  she  kissed  the  little  one  tenderly 
one  day  and  murmured,  her  sad  eyes  raised  to  heaven,  "  Dol- 


240  OVERLAND    TALES. 

ores,  he  called  me,  and  if  he  be  dead,  it  will  seem  like  an 
atonement  to  give  the  name  to  my  pet  child."  Her  husband, 
blustering  and  pompous  in  his  ways  —  meaning  to  be  com- 
manding and  dignified — seldom  opposed  a  wish  his  wife  de- 
cidedly expressed,  never  stopping  to  ask  reason  or  motive  ; 
and  the  Spanish  children  with  whom  Lola's  nurse  came  in 
contact  calling  her  by  this  diminutive,  the  child  had  grown 
up  rejoicing  in  her  outlandish  name,  and  an  unusually  large 
allowance  of  good  looks. 

In  the  meantime  Matilda's  hair  has  been  "done  up"  and 
duly  admired,  and  Miss  Fanny,  loath  to  abandon  her  com- 
fortable position  on  the  lounge,  has  just  requested  Lola  to 
bring  for  her  inspection  the  list  of  invitations  made  out  for 
the  New- Year  ball  to  be  given  by  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Wheaton. 

"Wonder  what  Angelina  Stubbs  will  wear?  "  soliloquized 
Miss  Fanny.  "And  how  she  '11  make  that  diamond  glitter  ! 
Wonder  if  papa  will  ever  give  me  the  solitaire  he  promised 
me  ?  "  —  turning  to  her  mother. 

"No  doubt  of  it,  if  he  has  promised  it,"  was  the  quiet 
reply. 

"  Swampoodle  was  up  to  three  hundred  this  morning.  I 
should  think  he  could  afford  it."  Then  glancing  at  the  list 
again,  she  continued  :  "  Here's  young  Somervale's  name.  I 
suppose  Angelina  will  be  hanging  on  his  arm  all  the  evening." 

"Charles  Somervale  ?  "  asked  Matilda.  "Papa  said  we 
ought  not  to  have  him  come ;  he  says  his  salary  will  no  more 
than  pay  for  the  kid  gloves  and  cravats  he  's  got  to  buy  when 
he  attends  gatherings  like  these,  and  papa  thinks  it  is  wrong 
to  encourage  a  poor  young  man  in  acquiring  a  taste  for  fash- 
ionable society." 

"  Poor  or  not,"  persisted  Miss  Fanny,  "  he  's  got  to  come, 
because  he  's  a  splendid  figure  in  a  ball-room,  and  such  a 
dancer  !  Poor,  indeed  !  Why,  Angelina  Stubbs  would  take 
him  this  moment,  and  her  father  would  jump  at  the  chance." 


THE    GOLDEN  LAMB.  24! 

"  I  should  think  he  would  —  to  get  rid  of  her  domineer- 
ing," laughed  Miss  Matilda.  "But  our  papa  isn't  a  wid- 
ower, and  I  doubt  that  he  would  give  any  man  a  fortune  to 
have  him  marry  one  of  his  daughters." 

Miss  Fanny's  face  grew  crimson  with  vexation.  "  You  are 
very  disagreeable  sometimes,  Matilda.  But  I  don't  wonder 
at  your  fearing  my  getting  married  before  you,  seeing  that 
you  are  the  oldest  of  the  family." 

It  was  now  Matilda's  turn  to  get  angry,  but  the  mother's 
quiet,  even  voice  broke  in  and  calmed  the  rising  storm  before 
the  oldest  of  the  family  could  frame  an  answer.  The  leading 
question  —  the  dresses  to  be  worn  the  night  of  the  ball  —  was 
brought  up ;  and  when  the  mother  turned  to  consult  her 
youngest  daughter  on  some  point,  she  found  her  no  longer  in 
the  room. 

"  Where  is  Lola?  "  she  wondered. 

"Gone  to  the  matinee,  probably,"  yawned  Fanny,  com- 
posing herself  for  the  further  perusal  of  her  novel,  "and  I 
should  have  gone  too,  if  it  was  not  too  much  trouble  to  dress 
so  early  in  the  day.  Dear  me,  don't  I  pity  Tilly,  though  !  " 

"Why?"  asked  Mrs.  Wheaton,  regarding  her  eldest 
daughter. 

"  She  will  have  to  sit  up  straight  all  day  long  with  that 
bunch  of  hair  on  her  head.  She  thinks  old  Toots  is  coming 
to-night,  and  she  would  n't  for  the  world  lose  her  elegant 
coiffure  and  the  chance  of  looking  pretty  in  his  eyes." 

Before  she  had  finished  speaking  her  eyes  were  fastened  on 
the  book  again,  and  whatever  Tilly  replied  about  not  wishing 
to  receive  a  solitaire  as  gift  from  her  father  fell  unheeded,  ap- 
parently, on  the  fair  Fanny's  ears. 

It  was  a  mistake  about  Lola's  having  gone  to  the  matinee. 

If  we  follow  her  we  shall  see  her  ascending  one  of  the  streets 

in  the  same  quarter  of  the  city  in  which  the  paternal  mansion 

—  as  the  novel-writers  have  it  —  stood,  though  in  a  far  less 

21  Q 


242  OVERLAND    TALES. 

fashionable  part.  Indeed,  there  was  no  fashion  about ;  for  a 
corner-grocery,  or  a  retail  fruit-shop  occasionally  made  its  ap- 
pearance among  the  ranks  of  the  generally  neat  houses,  each 
of  which  was  provided  with  a  flower- covered  veranda,  or  a 
trim  front  yard.  One  of  them  boasted  of  a  garden  and 
veranda  both  —  the  former  set  out  with  well-tended  flowers, 
the  latter  almost  hidden  under  creeping  roses  and  trailing 
fuchsias.  Everything  about  the  place  looked  prim  and  neat ; 
even  the  China  boy,  who  opened  the  door  for  Lola,  seemed 
to  have  been  infected  by  the  spirit  prevailing,  and  his  snowy 
apron  fairly  blinked  in  the  rays  of  the  sun  falling  through  the 
curtain  of  the  foliage,  thinned  by  the  cold  nights  of  the 
winter  season. 

Miss  Myrick  was  in,  sewing  by  the  window,  seated  in  her 
own  chair,  so  low  that  she  could  not  see  out  into  the  garden, 
for  fear  of  being  tempted  to  waste  her  time.  The  parlor  was 
comfortably  furnished,  homelike  and  tidy,  though  Miss  Myrick 
occupied  it  most  of  the  time  with  her  work.  She  did  not 
often  sit  in  the  little  room  at  the  back  of  the  house,  which 
really  had  a  better  light — the  windows  opening  to  the  ground 
—  because  there  was  another  garden  there,  and  Miss  Myrick 
was  so  passionately  fond  of  her  bright-hued  pets  that  it  once 
happened  that  the  sewing  which  had  been  entrusted  to  her  by 
a  cloaking  establishment  in  the  city  was  found  unfinished  and 
she  in  the  garden  when  the  porter  came  to  take  the  garments 
home.  Since  that  time  she  had  been  a  great  deal  stricter 
with  herself —  she  never  had  been  strict  with  anybody  else, 
not  even  with  Charlie  Somervale,  when  he  had  been  left  to 
her  a  romping,  frolicking  boy  of  thirteen  by  his  dying  mother. 

She  was  an  old  maid  even  then,  dreadfully  set  in  her  ways, 
as  people  said,  and  the  twelve  years  which  had  passed  since 
then  had  made  her  no  younger.  Her  ways,  however  set,  must 
have  been  gentle  and  good,  for  they  had  won  the  boy  back 
from  the  almost  hopeless  despondency  into  which  his  mother's 


THE    GOLDEN  LAMB.  243 

death  had  thrown  him,  and  she  had  made  of  him  a  man  such 
as  few  are  met  with  in  our  time.  His  mother  had  left  him 
nothing,  his  father  having  died  in  the  mines  years  before, 
poor  and  away  from  his  friends. 

Dying  his  mother  had  said  to  her  friend,  "  Find  my  brother; 
he  will  provide  for  the  boy  for  my  sake."  This,  however, 
Miss  Myrick  had  failed  to  do  for  two  reasons :  she  knew  of 
the  whereabouts  of  the  brother  only  that  he  was  in  the  Indies; 
and  had  she  known  more  she  would  not  have  prosecuted  the 
search,  because — well,  Charlie  "did  n't  know  exactly,  but  he 
guessed  that  her  mother  had  intended  Miss  Myrick  for  her 
brother's  wife,  but  the  brother  had  declined  taking  stock  in 
that  mine."  Charlie  was  clerk  in  the  bank,  and  we  must  for- 
give him  some  of  his  peculiar  expressions  on  the  ground  that 
"  he  heard  nothing  but  stocks  talked  from  morning  till  night." 

As  we  are  aware  that  the  banks  close  at  twelve  o'clock  on 
Saturdays,  we  neet  not  be  surprised  to  see  'Charlie  coming 
down  the  street,  on  the  way  to  Aunt  Myrick's  house,  his  home. 
Lola  seemed  very  much  surprised,  so  much  so  that  her  face 
flushed  when  he  came  in  at  the  door,  just  as  she  was  about 
to  leave  the  house.  After  a  few  moments'  conversation  about 
"the  delightful  weather  —  and  this  time  of  the  year,  too  — 
nearly  Christmas  —  "  Charlie  asked  permission  to  escort  Miss 
Wheaton  down  the  street,  which  permission  was  graciously 
given. 

Though  we  should  like  much  to  remain  with  Miss  Myrick 
in  her  cozy  little  home,  where  nothing  indicated  that  the 
mistress  was  compelled  to  earn  her  bread  with  her  needle,  we 
have  more  interest  in  going  with  the  handsome  young  couple, 
moving  along  in  front  of  us  as  if  they  were  treading  on  air. 
Though  there  is  no  lack  of  deference  or  respect  in  the  man- 
ner with  which  the  young  man  leans  over  to  whisper  some- 
thing into  the  ear  of  the  younger  Miss  Wheaton,  he  has  yet 
dropped  the  formal  address  and  speech  of  which  he  made  use 
at  Miss  Myrick's  gate. 


244  OVERLAND    TALES. 

"  Lola,"  and  the  little  hand  on  his  coat -sleeve  is  surrepti- 
tiously pressed  as  they  turn  the  corner  of  a  quiet  street  not 
leading  to  the  paternal  mansion,  "  how  can  I  thank  my  angel 
for  the  unspeakable  happiness  of  this  meeting  ?  The  bright 
sun  would  have  been  shrouded  in  darkness  to  me  if  you  had 
broken  my  heart  by  disappointing  me.  A  thousand,  thousand 
thanks  for  your  visit  to  —  my  Aunt  Myrick's." 

She  caught  the  roguish  twinkle  in  his  merry  blue  eye,  and 
the  joyous  laugh  that  rang  out  on  the  air  could  not  have 
offended  Miss  Myrick  herself,  had  she  heard  the  conversation. 

"What  pretty  speeches,"  Lola  tossed  her  head  mockingly; 
"did  you  learn  them  from  Miss  Angelina  Stubbs?"  and 
another  laugh  spoke  of  the  lightness  of  heart  which  finds  food 
for  laughter  and  gladness  in  all  harmless  things. 

"  I  told  her  the  other  day  when  she  joked  me  about  my 
advancing  bachelorhood"  (they  were  slowly  ascending  one 
of  the  hills  overlooking  the  bay,  and  it  is  impossible  to  talk 
fast  at  such  a  time,  even  for  a  young  man  six  feet  tall,  with 
black  moustache  and  corresponding  hair,  and  a  beautiful 
young  lady  leaning  on  his  arm)  "that  I  should  have  to  wait 
—  till  my  uncle  from  the  Indies  came  home ;  and  what  do 
you  think  she  said?" 

They  had  come  to  a  little  nook  high  up,  where  the  great 
bustling  city  was  almost  hidden  from  sight,  and  the  bay 
seemed  stretching  out  at  their  very  feet ;  the  houses  below 
them  concealed  by  the  brow  of  the  hill.  To  the  right,  afar 
off,  were  peaceful  homesteads  and  gardens  filled  with  shrubs 
and  trees;  and  whatever  might  have  been  harsh  orunromantic 
in  the  view,  was  toned  down  by  the  distance  and  the  soften- 
ing lights  of  the  mild  winter's  sun. 

"Well,"  asked  Lola,  seating  herself  on  a  little  ledge  of 
rock  where  Charlie  had  spread  his  handkerchief. 

"  She  intimated,  with  becomingly  downcast  eyes,  that  I 
might  find  a  fortune  within  my  grasp  any  time  I  chose  it. 


THE   GOLDEN  LAMB.  245 

'Oh,  yes,'  said  I,  'Miss  Angelina,  but  then,  you  know,  it's 
always  a  venture.  And  besides,  I  have  made  a  vow  never  to 
dabble  in  stocks.'  She  gave  me  rather  a  blank  look  at  first, 
but  thought  she  wouldn't  stop  to  explain." 

Lola  could  only  reach  him  with  her  parasol,  and  the  blow 
she  struck  him  could  not  have  been  very  severe,  for  they  both 
laughed  heartily  the  next  moment. 

"  But  I  have  really  heard  from  my  uncle  in  India  —  it  was 
a  letter  sent  to  my  poor  mother  —  only  I  did  not  want  to  tell 
Aunt  Myrick;  she  never  likes  to  hear  the  name  mentioned." 

"Tell  me  about  that  story,"  said  Lola,  her  woman's  inter- 
est in  a  woman's  heart-story  aroused;  "you  once  said  that 
she  had  been  disappointed." 

"  Not  she  so  much  as  this  uncle  whom  my  mother  wanted 
to  marry  Miss  Myrick.  It  seems  that  he  was  engaged  to 
some  other  young  lady — some  lovely  maid  —  but  a  hard- 
hearted wretch  of  a  brother,  or  cruel,  unfeeling  parent  inter- 
fered—" 

"  Don't  speak  so  lightly,  Charlie,"  pleaded  Lola,  her  eyes 
filling  with  tears ;  "  it  is  bad  to  have  brother  or  parent  come 
between  yourself  and  the  one  you  love,  is  it  not?  " 

"Why,  Lola  darling,  what  has  happened?  Does  your 
heart  fail  ?  Do  you  already  doubt  your  love  for  me,  or  the 
strength  to  assert  it  ?  " 

"No,  no,  Charlie  —  never  fear.  It  is  you  or  death;  you 
know  what  I  have  said,"  and  her  tiny  fingers  clasped  his 
strong  hand.  "  But  you  know  as  well  as  I  that  papa  will 
interfere  when  he  discovers — " 

"That  you  intend  to  become  a  poor  man's  wife.  Lola, 
you  know  the  law  I  have  made  for  you  —  the  only  command 
I  would  ever  lay  on  you,"  and  his  voice,  though  tender,  was 
firm,  "  when  you  marry  me  you  will  be  a  poor  man's  wife, 
not  a  rich  man's  daughter.  Not  a  cent  of  your  father's 
money,  good  and  kind  man  though  he  be,  will  ever  be 
21* 


246  OVERLAND    TALES. 

brought  across  my  threshold,  even  should  he  be  willing  to 
give  you  the  fortune  he  holds  in  store  for  some  wealthy  son- 
in-law.  There,  my  angel,  let  us  have  done  with  tragedy  and 
care."  It  was  easy  to  make  an  excuse  for  stooping,  so  as  to 
touch  her  fingers  with  his  lips.  "  Who  knows  but  I  shall  be 
a  rich  man  yet  before  I  claim  you?  I  have  been  sorely 
tempted  to  try  my  luck  in  something  new  they  have  just 
struck." 

"What?    After  you  told  Miss  Angelina  about  your  vow?" 

"But  it  is  something  truly  wonderful;  I  have  it  from  old 
Bingham  himself.  He  cannot  go  into  it  —  at  least  not  under 
his  own  name  —  and  there  are  only  two  or  three  others  to  be 
initiated."  He  was  gazing  meditatively  at  the  roof  of  a 
house  that  peeped  out  from  among  a  clump  of  trees  below 
and  far  to  the  right  of  him.  "  There  's  the  money  I  laid  by 
for  paying  on  the  house,  and  Aunt  Myrick,  I  know,  has  five 
hundred  in  the  bank ;  if  I  knew  I  could  only  double  it  within 
the  year — " 

"Don't  touch  anything  belonging  to  Aunt  Myrick,  or  she 
will  instantly  conceive  it  to  be  her  duty  to  work  still  harder, 
because  you  might  be  unfortunate  —  and  then  what  would 
become  of  the  old  blind  woman  and  the  paralyzed  man,  and 
the  sick  family  back  of  the  grocery,  and  her  old  gouty  cat, 
and  the  boy  with  fits —  " 

"  Hush,  hush  —  I'll  not  touch  a  cent  belonging  to  her," 
vowed  Charlie,  with  his  hands  to  his  ears. 

The  sun  was  sinking  low,  and  after  it  had  been  agreed 
between  them  just  how  many  dances  Lola  was  to  give  to 
strange  gentlemen  at  the  coming  ball,  and  how  many  Charlie 
was  to  claim,  and  how  often  Charlie  in  turn  was  to  dance 
with  Miss  Angelina,  and  how  often  with  Fanny  and  Tilly, 
the  lovers  descended  the  hill  more  slowly,  if  possible,  than 
they  had  climbed  it,  and  finally  parted  within  sight  of  Lola's 
home. 


THE    GOLDEN  LAMB.  247 

There  was  to  be  no  New  Year's  party  at  the  Wheaton  man- 
sion this  year.  "No!"  sneered  Miss  Angelina,  "for  they 
disposed  of  the  oldest  old  maid  at  the  last,  and  probably 
expect  to  get  rid  of  the  second  at  somebody  else's  ball  this 
year." 

I  am  sure  Miss  Angelina  need  not  have  sneered  so,  because 
she  tried  hard  enough  to  get  old  Toots  herself.  But  that  is 
neither  here  nor  there ;  Miss  Tilly  had  received  a  proposal  at 
that  New  Year's  ball,  and  Miss  Fanny  her  solitaire  —  from 
her  father,  to  be  sure ;  but  then  that  was  better  than  not  to 
receive  any.  Old  Toots,  proud  husband  of  the  peerless  Tilly 
now  for  many  months,  was  not  old  at  all,  and  his  name  wasn't 
Toots  either.  His  name  was  Jacob  Udderstrome ;  and  in 
early  days  he  had  been  the  proprietor  of  a  milk  ranch,  and 
having  used  a  tin  trumpet  for  the  purpose  of  making  known 
his  coming  to  the  more  tardy  of  his  customers,  he  had  been 
honored  with  the  unromantic  appellation  without  his  par- 
ticular wish  or  consent.  When  the  country  had  become  more 
settled  Jacob  sold  out,  and  being  possessed  of  a  great  deal 
of  natural  shrewdness  and  a  native  talent  for  keeping  his 
mouth  shut,  he  had  doubled  and  trebled  his  money  by  simply 
buying  up  real  estate  and  selling  at  the  right  time. 

Fanny  was  still  languishing  for  the  right  one ;  she  could 
never  think  of  entertaining  less  than  a  hundred  thousand, 
when  Tilly  had  gotten  at  least  three  times  that  amount. 
Father  and  mother  seldom  interfered  with  any  of  their 
daughters'  plans  or  pleasures,  and  only  once  in  the  course  of 
the  past  year  had  Papa  Wheaton  been  seriously  displeased.  On 
this  occasion  he  had  Lola  called  into  the  room,  and  demanded 
sternly  of  her  why  she  had  refused  the  hand  and  fortune  of 
Hiram  Watson  ?  He  looked  quite  fierce  and  kept  brushing 
up  the  ridge  of  hair  an  his  head  stiffer  and  stiffer,  till  at  last 
it  stood  alone.  Then  Lola  ventured  to  ask,  "  Are  you  speak- 
ing of  Mr.  Watson  the  tobacconist?" 


248  OVERLAND    TALES, 

"  Tobacconist  ?  To  be  sure  I  am ;  a  tobacconist  is  n't  to 
be  sneezed  at  when  he  's  got  a  cool  half  million  to  back  him." 

"  It  was  not  that  I  spoke  of;  I  have  only  to  say  that  I  could 
feel  nothing  more  than  respect  for  him;  and  I  will  never 
marry  where  I  cannot  give  my  heart  with  my  hand." 

"  That 's  your  notion  of  what 's  right,  is  it  ?  What,  do  you 
tell  me,  when  I  've  spent  more  money  on  your  education  than 
both  your  sisters  together  ever  cost  me,  that  you  can't  marry 
a  worthy,  solid  man  because  he  won't  write  sentimental  love- 
letters  ?  I  tell  you  — ' ' 

He  was  talking  himself  into  a  rage  and  turning  purple  in 
the  face,  when  his  wife  entered,  and,  like  the  good,  quiet  angel 
she  always  was,  put  an  end  to  the  interview  and  the  father's 
anger  with  her  favorite  child. 

Lola  told  Charlie  of  the  interview,  and  he  thanked  her  for 
her  devotion,  and  strengthened  her  resolution  by  such  words 
as  only  Charlie  could  utter  —  so  full  of  the  heart's  deep  love 
and  the  warmth  of  a  rich  chivalrous  nature.  "  On  Christmas 
day,  my  love,"  he  said,  "  I  shall  be  able  to  step  boldly  before 
your  father  and  claim  you  for  my  wife.  I  am  all  but  a  rich 
man  now,  thanks  to  old  Bingham's  prompting  and  the  secrecy 
observed,  which  has  left  this  thing  entirely  in  our  own  hands. 
I  have  the  field  almost  to  myself,  and  shall  realize  within  the 
next  three  months  such  a  fortune  as  I  had  never  dreamed  of 
possessing." 

"Not  even  if  that  mythical  uncle  in  the  Indies  had  come 
home?  " 

"Hang  the  uncle  —  no  —  I  mean,  I  believe  he  is  dead, 
poor  fellow.  I  answered  his  letter  last  year,  but  never  heard 
from  him  again,  though  he  expressed  the  greatest  longing  to 
hear  from  or  see  some  one  who  had  ever  belonged  to  him.  It 
was  hard  to  tell  him  that  even  mother,  his  only  sister,  was 
dead." 

"Poor  fellow!" 


THE    GOLDEN  LAMB,  249 

"  Yes,  mother  used  to  say  that  he  was  heart-broken.  Hav- 
ing come  into  the  world  myself  after  he  left  it,  for  the  Indies, 
I  can't  well  remember  him  ;  but  I  can  feel  for  him  now, 
because  I  know  what  I  should  do  if  you  could  not  be  mine. 
I  should  break  into  your  room  at  night,  steal  you,  and  take 
you  to  the  bottom  of  the  sea  with  me." 

Like  a  romantic  young  lady,  Lola  expressed  her  entire  will- 
ingness to  visit  such  a  place  with  him ;  and  she  said  it  so 
quietly  that  Charlie,  at  least,  believed  what  she  said. 

"  Let  us  talk  of  life  now,  not  of  death,"  Charles  went  on. 
"  If  I  obtain  your  father's  consent  to  our  union  at  Christmas, 
will  you  become  mine  on  New- Year's  day  ?  I  have  a  queer 
notion  of  wanting  to  celebrate  my  marriage  —  to  make  it  a 
feast  or  hold  it  on  a  feast  day.  I  believe  that  people  who 
have  determined  to  pass  their  days  together  should  begin  their 
hew  married  life  with  the  beginning  of  the  year.  Will  you 
assist  me  in  carrying  out  this  romantic  idea?  " 

She  called  him  an  enthusiast,  a  philosopher,  and  a  thou- 
sand other  contradictory  names,  but  the  pressure  of  her  hand 
gave  him  assurance  of  her  consent  to  his  wish. 

Christmas  brought  with  it  skies  as  blue  and  days  as  radiant 
as  those  for  which  we  sing  songs  of  glory  to  Italy.  The  rains 
of  the  season  so  far  had  fallen  mostly  at  night,  leaving  the  sun 
day  by  day  to  kiss  the  brown  hills  into  fresher  green,  after  he 
had  freed  himself  from  the  heavy  fogs  of  early  morning. 

The  Wheatons  were  not  a  church-going  people,  though  the 
costliest  pew  at  one  of  the  largest  churches  was  theirs ;  and 
while  Mr.  Wheaton  was  never  known  to  refuse  heading  a  sub- 
scription list  for  any  undertaking,  the  benevolence  of  which 
had  been  duly  proclaimed  in  the  newspapers,  Mrs.  Wheaton 
had  taught  her  daughters  to  delight  in  unostentatious  charity. 
Presuming  on  her  father's  fondness  for  a  late  dressing-gown 
and  slippers,  on  days  when  the  observance  of  a  religious  feast 
or  popular  holiday  required  that  he  should  not  be  seen  on 


250  OVERLAND    TALES. 

California  street,  Lola  had  intimated  to  Charlie  her  opinion 
as  to  the  time  the  old  gentleman  would  probably  be  in  the 
most  "malleable"  humor.  It  was  with  some  trepidation, 
nevertheless,  that  Charlie  ascended  the  steps  leading  up  to 
the  wide  hall-door  of  the  Wheaton  mansion,  after  having  spent 
the  morning  in  his  own  room,  shutting  out  Aunt  Myrick, 
Orlando,  the  cat,  the  morning  papers,  in  fact  the  whole  world, 
from  his  sight. 

It  was  probably  owing  to  the  unusually  good  humor  in 
which  Mr.  Wheaton  found  himself  this  morning,  that  Charlie 
was  requested  to  walk  into  the  breakfast-room,  where  the 
flying  robes  adorning  Miss  Fanny's  person  were  seen  whisk- 
ing out  at  the  other  door,  as  the  young  man  entered  the 
pleasant,  sun-lighted  room.  The  last  glowing  coals  were  fall- 
ing to  ashes,  in  a  grate,  which  at  this  hour  of  the  day  seemed 
an  unnecessary  ornament  for  a  California  house. 

"  Come  in,  come  in,  young  man.  But  where  are  the  girls? 
Tom,  go  call  Miss  Fanny  and  Miss  Lola." 

There  was  no  necessity  for  calling  Miss  Lola  —  she  was 
close  at  hand,  though  becoming  suddenly  invisible;  and  as 
for  Miss  Fanny,  she  remained  invisible.  She  had  no  notion 
of  taking  her  hair  out  of  crimps  just  for  Charlie  Somervale, 
when  she  expected  to  meet  a  far  more  interesting  person  — 
Crown  Point,  Gould  &  Curry,  Eureka  Con.,  report  said 
five  hundred  thousand  dollars  —  at  the  Wadsworth  reception 
that  night.  Had  Mr.  Wheaton  not  taken  off  his  glasses  when 
Charlie  came  in  he  might  have  noticed  an  unusual  flush  on 
the  young  man's  face;  as  it  was  he  shook  hands  with  him  so 
cordially  that  Charlie's  color  subsided  somewhat,  and  his  heart 
beat  less  loud  for  a  minute. 

I  doubt  that  either  the  old  gentleman  or  the  young  one 
remember  just  how  the  conversation  was  opened ;  but  in  less 
than  fifteen  minutes  Mr.  Wheaton,  with  motiocs  something 
like  those  of  an  enraged  turkey-gobbler,  and  a  color  darken- 


THE    GOLDEN  LAMB.  2$I 

ing  face  and  neck  fully  equal  to  the  in  tensest  shade  that  bird 
can  boast  of  on  its  gills,  flew  to  the  door,  and  called  on  Lola 
to  make  her  appearance,  in  no  pleasant  tones.  Together 
with  Lola,  as  though  divining  the  trouble  drawing  near,  came 
Mrs.  Wheaton,  though  so  noiselessly,  through  a  side-door, 
that  no  one  observed  her  at  first. 

"Lola,"  sputtered  Mr.  Wheaton,  "I  have  spent  more 
money  on  your  education  than  both  your  other  sisters  together 
ever  cost  me ;  and  now  here  comes  this  young  fellow  and 
tells  me,  as  coolly  as  you  please,  that  you  are  engaged  to  him, 
and  the  like  nonsense.  Engaged,  indeed;  you  are  not 
eighteen  yet,  and  he  hasn't  got  a  cent  to  his  name.  I 
thought  I  had  brought  up  my  children  to  love  me  at  least,  if 
I  cannot  compel  them  to  obedience ;  and  if  you,  Lola,  go  off 
and  leave  me  in  my  old  age  —  go  away  from  my  house  with  a 
beggar  —  you  who  have  been  petted  and  spoiled ;  you  on 
whom  I  had  built  the  hopes  of  my  declining  years,  you  will 
never  darken  my  doors  again,  but  live  a  beggar  and  an  out- 
cast forever  away  from  your  parents'  home." 

Mrs.  Wheaton  had  approached  the  group,  and  Charlie 
turned  to  her. 

"It  is  not  as  a  poor  man  that  I  claim  your  daughter  for 
my  bride;  see,  I  am  rich  —  worth  a  hundred  thousand  this 
moment,"  he  drew  a  package  of  papers  from  his  pocket; 
"and  I  have  the  ambition  and  the  power  to  amass  a  fortune, 
and  place  your  daughter  where  she  will  never  miss  the  com- 
forts and  luxuries  of  her  childhood's  home." 

He  stepped  over  to  where  Mr.  Wheaton  stood  listening  in 
incredulous  silence  to  what  the  young  man  said. 

"And  may  J  ask  from  where  this  fabulous  wealth  springs  so 
suddenly  ?  "  he  asked,  breaking  the  silence. 

"  I  own  to  having  tried  my  luck,  against  the  strict  advice 
and  wish  of  my  employers,  in  mining  speculations.  The 
venture  has  proved  successful.  I  say  nothing  in  extenuation 


252  OVERLAND    TALES. 

of  the  fault  —  if  fault  I  have  committed  —  save  that  I  wanted 
to  offer  to  Lola  a  home  which  should  not  be  too  great  a  con- 
trast to  her  father's  house.  Old  Bingham— " 

"Old  Bingham,"  interrupted  Mr.  Wheaton,  purple  in  the 
face ;  "and  the  name  of  the  mine?  " 

"The  Golden  Lamp,"  answered  Charlie,  proudly,  holding 
up  for  Mr.  Wheaton' s  inspection  the  papers  he  had  drawn 
from  his  pocket. 

"Lola!"  shouted  Mr.  Wheaton  in  his  shrillest  tones, 
seizing  the  girl  by  the  arm  and  dragging  her  away  from 
Charlie's  side,  as  if  the  young  man  had  been  afflicted  with  a 
sudden  leprosy,  "  come  to  me,  my  child.  He  's  a  beggar,  I 
tell  you  —  a  beggar  and  worse ;  for  all  his  friends  will  turn 
from  him  for  his  indiscretion.  The  whole  thing  is  a  gull ; 
there  isn't  gold  enough  in  the  mine  to  show  the  color. 
Here 's  the  paper.  Where  did  you  have  your  eyes  this 
morning?  " 

Charlie  stood  like  one  paralyzed ;  his  fingers  clutched 
tighter  the  roll  of  papers  in  his  hand,  and  he  gazed  with  a 
strange,  bewildered  stare  into  Lola's  eyes,  as  though  trying 
hard  to  understand  what  the  dreadful  things  he  heard  meant. 
Lola  seemed  to  comprehend  quicker,  and  the  look  she  bent 
on  Charlie  was  full  of  tender  pity,  as  she  watched  the  lines 
that  black,  hopeless  despair  was  writing  on  his  face.  Mrs. 
Wheaton  had  snatched  the  paper  from  her  husband's  hand 
and  was  reading : 

"The  chosen  few  who  thought  that  for  once  they  could 
fleece  the  golden  lamb  driven  quietly  into  a  little  corner  for 
their  own  benefit,  have  come  out  leaving  their  own  wool 
behind.  We  are  speaking  of  the  Golden  Lamb  Mine,  which 
was  to  have  been  paraded  in  the  market  about  the  first  of 
January,  to  lead  astray  with  its  deceptive  glitter  all  who  were 
foolish  enough  to  believe  without  seeing.  The  few  shares 
that  had  already  been  disposed  of  '  to  strictly  confidential 


THE    GOLDEN  LAMB.  253 

friends,'  by  the  shrewd  managers  of  the  concern,  have  gone 
down  from  five  hundred  dollars  to  five  dollars,  at  which  figure 
they  went  begging  late  in  the  afternoon  yesterday,  no  one 
having  confidence  in  a  swindle  so  promptly  and  completely 
exposed." 

"Lola,"  it  was  Charles's  voice,  but  so  changed  and  broken 
that  Mrs.  Wheaton  dropped  the  paper  to  look  into  his  face. 

Lola  sprang  to  his  side,  and  he  groped  for  her  hand  as 
though  its  slender  strength  could  uphold  the  man  who  but  an 
hour  before  looked  able  to  move  mountains  from  their  place. 
Blindness  seemed  to  have  fallen  on  his  eyes,  for  he  repeated 
the  call  when  the  girl  stood  close  beside  him. 

"My  darling,"  she  murmured,  seizing  the  hand  that  was 
still  seeking  hers,  and,  heedless  of  her  mother's  presence  or  her 
father's  wild  gestures,  she  pressed  the  icy  fingers  to  her  lips, 
breathing  broken  words  of  love  and  comfort  into  Charlie's  ear. 

"  Lola  !  "  the  name  again  rang  through  the  room ;  it  was 
her  mother's  cry,  and  the  sharp  terror  in  it  struck  like  a  knife 
to  the  girl's  heart,  "your  father  —  quick!  Would  you  kill 
him?  Do  you  not  see  —  he  is  dying!  Oh,  my  child,  my 
child,  cast  off  everything,  but  do  not  load  your  soul  with  his 
death!  God  help  me  to  guide  you."  There  was  something 
in  the  woman's  eye  that  spoke  of  more  than  alarm  at  the 
symptoms  of  an  approaching  attack,  such  as  she  had  always 
feared  for  the  father  of  her  children. 

She  had  never  loved  this  man  with  the  absorbing  passion 
of  which  her  heart  was  capable ;  but  as  she  knelt  by  his  side, 
giving  him  every  aid  in  her  power  in  a  frenzied,  hurried  man- 
ner, so  different  from  her  usual  placid  ways,  her  wide-opened 
eyes  seemed  to  look  back  through  the  shadows  and  mists  of 
long,  dreary  years,  and  she  spoke  wildly  and  rapidly  to  her 
child. 

"Oh,  Lola!  don't  blacken  your  soul  with  this  crime  —  I 
too  loaded  the  curse  on  me ;  I  have  borne  it  for  years  —  and 
22 


254  OVERLAND    TALES. 

all  the  useless  remorse,  the  vain,  bitter  regrets.  Give  up  all 
you  hold  dear  in  life,  but  do  not,  do  not  try  to  find  your  way 
to  happiness  over  the  stricken  form  of  your  father !  " 

Lola  shook  like  a  reed  in  the  storm,  and  breaking  away 
from  Charlie  she  knelt  by  her  mother's  side. 

"Father!  "  she  pleaded,  "father,  speak  to  me  —  call  me 
your  pet  again  —  your  dearest  child;  see  me  —  I  will  never, 
never  leave  you,  father,  only  speak  to  me  once  again." 

No  one  heeded  Charlie,  and  he  staggered  from  the  house, 
muttering  between  his  clinched  teeth: 

"  So  they  will  all  turn  from  me — and  she  was  the  first." 

Hours  passed  ere  the  old  man  found  speech  and  conscious- 
ness again  ;  and  the  physician  who  had  been  summoned  shook 
his  head  warningly.  "It  was  a  narrow  escape,"  he  said; 
"  careful,  old  man,  careful.  What  is  it  the  Bible,  or  some 
other  good  book  says  —  '  let  not  your  angry  passions  rise  ? ' 
Who's  been  vexing  you?" 

Lola,  his  special  favorite,  whose  eyes  he  had  seen  opening 
on  the  light  of  this  world,  was  not  present,  or  her  ghastly  face 
might  have  prevented  him  from  asking  the  question. 

Mrs.  Wheaton  was  again  the  quiet,  sad-faced  woman,  solic- 
itous only  for  the  comfort  and  well-doing  of  the  man  who 
had  been  to  her  the  most  indulgent  of  husbands.  It  was  hard 
to  say  what  was  passing  in  her  heart ;  perhaps  the  crater  had 
long  since  burned  out,  and  the  silver  threads  running  through 
her  raven  hair  was  the  snow  that  had  gathered  on  the  cold 
ashes.  For  Lola  there  was  neither  rest  nor  sleep,  and  she 
insisted  on  watching  through  the  night  by  her  father's  bed- 
side, though  assured  that  there  was  no  necessity  for  keeping 
watch. 

Early  the  next  morning  she  went  out,  not  clandestinely, 
but  with  a  determined  step  and  an  expression  in  her  eye  than 
which  nothing  could  be  more  sad  and  hopeless.  She  returned 
after  many  hours,  and  though  her  eyes  had  lost  none  of  their 


THE    GOLDEN  LAMB.  2$5 

dreary  expression,  there  seemed  to  be  some  purpose  written 
in  them  that  could  also  be  traced  in  the  lines  drawn  since 
yesterday  about  the  firmly  closed  mouth.  Her  mother,  con-" 
cealed  by  the  heavy  curtains  drawn  back  from  the  window, 
watched  her  gloomily  as  she  passed  through  the  room  gather- 
ing up  some  music  that  lay  scattered  on  the  piano,  as  though 
she  meant  never  to  touch  its  ivory  keys  again. 

"Ah,  me!  "  she  sighed,  "she  is  young  to  learn  the  bitter 
lesson  :  that  those  who  have  a  heart  must  crush  out  its  love 
before  they  can  go  through  life  in  peace!  Dolores  —  it 
seemed  like  an  atonement  to  call  her  so ;  but  would  I  had  not 
given  her  the  fatal  name.  God  will  help  her  to  forget  —  as 
He  has  given  me  peace." 

The  darkening  eyes,  straying  far  out  over  the  waters,  seemed 
for  a  moment  ready  to  belie  the  boast  of  her  lips,  so  restless 
and  uneasy  was  their  light ;  but  the  discipline  of  half  a 
lifetime  asserted  its  power,  and  she  went  from  the  room,  calm 
and  self-possessed  as  ever. 

Little  did  she  dream  of  the  cause  of  what  she  deemed 
Lola's  uncomplaining  resignation.  The  girl  had  seen  her 
lover,  and,  unspeakably  wretched  as  he  was,  she  could  say 
no  word  to  comfort  him,  but  held  his  hand  in  hers,  with  all 
the  love  her  heart  contained  beaming  from  her  glorious  eyes. 
Only  once  did  he  clasp  her  to  his  heart  in  a  passionate 
embrace :  she  had  sealed  the  promise  to  be  his,  with  a  kiss. 
They  would  enter  on  their  new  life  together  at  the  beginning 
of  the  year.  They  would  be  wedded  to  each  other  on  New- 
Year  day  —  but  the  priest  who  received  their  vows  should  be 
Death,  and  their  marriage-bed  the  bottom  of  the  bay. 

Charlie's  name  was  never  mentioned  in  the  Wheaton  man- 
sion ;  the  events  of  Christmas  morning  seemed  banished  from 
the  memory  of  the  three  people  who  had  participated  in  them. 
There  was  nothing  to  indicate  that  a  change  of  any  kind  had 
taken  place  or  was  likely  to  take  place.  Once  only  in  the 


256  OVERLAND    TALES. 

course  of  the  week  Miss  Fanny  remarked  laughingly,  that 
she  thought  Lola  was  preparing  to  elope,  because  all  her 
books,  dresses,  and  trinkets  were  so  neatly  packed  together. 
But  as  no  one  seemed  to  join  in  Miss  Fanny's  pleasantry,  the 
young  lady  betook  herself  to  her  usual  pastime  —  the  novel 
and  the  lounge. 

During  the  week  the  weather  changed,  and  heavy  storms 
swept  over  land  and  sea,  stirring  to  the  depths  the  waters  on 
which  Lola  gazed  for  many  a  half  hour  with  a  kind  of  stony 
satisfaction.  She  had  not  seen  Charlie  since  the  first  day  of 
the  week,  and  she  often  muttered  to  herself,  "Far  better  death 
than  a  life  without  my  love." 

At  last  New-Year's  morning  dawned  clear  and  bright,  like 
a  morning  in  early  spring.  At  an  early  hour  the  Wheaton 
mansion  became  the  scene  of  great  rejoicing.  There  was  a 
vigorous  pull  at  the  bell,  and  when  the  door  was  opened  a 
robust  young  fellow  made  his  way  very  unceremoniously  into 
the  breakfast-room,  and  a  fresh  Irish  voice  with  its  rich  brogue 
burst  out : 

"Plaize,  mam,  and  it's  a  splendid  b'y;  and  nurse  says 
I  'm  not  to  stay  a  minit,  but  you  're  to  come  right  aff." 

Mr.  Wheaton  threatened  to  go  off  with  joy  this  time,  his 
face  turned  so  red. 

"A  boy,  mother  —  think  of  that!  "  he  shouted,  forgetting 
for  once  in  his  life  what  he  deemed  his  dignity,  and  for  the 
first  time  calling  his  wife  anything  but  Mrs.  Wheaton  in  the 
presence  of  strangers  or  servants.  "Pat,  my  boy,  here's 
something  to  drink  his  health  [Thank 'ee,  sur;  —  and  it's  a 
half  aigle,  shure],  but  not  now;  mind  you,  go  right  back  and 
stay  there  till  I  corne,  or  I  '11  skin  you  alive." 

After  this  unprecedentedly  familiar  and  jocular  speech,  he 
turned  Pat  out  of  doors,  kissed  his  wife  frantically  and  rushed 
up-stairs  to  dress,  as  though  the  boy's  life  and  safety  depended 
on  his  taking  immediate  charge  of  him.  In  the  meantime 


THE    GOLDEN  LAMB,  2$? 

the  door-bell  had  been  rung  again,  and  Mr.  Wheaton  stopped 
when  halfway  up  the  stairs,  there  was  something  so  frightened 
and  excited  in  the  manner  of  the  lady  who  entered  the  hall- 
door. 

"  Miss  Lola  is  at  home,  I  think,"  said  the  servant  in  answer 
to  her  question ;  and  Mrs.  Wheaton,  crossing  the  hall  at  this 
moment,  turned  to  look  at  the  strange  woman. 

A  little  scream,  and  Miss  Myrick  —  for  it  was  she  —  asked 
of  Lola,  who  stood  white  and  ghostly  in  the  doorway,  "Is 
that  your  mother,  Lola  ?  Oh,  then  I  understand  it  all.  Poor 
Charlie  ?  The  woman  who  could  —  " 

Mrs.  Wheaton  stepped  quickly  forward.  "  Stop,  Augusta 
Myrick;  not  one  word  more  before  my  child." 

Mr.  Wheaton  had  descended  the  stairs,  and  sprung  to  his 
wife,  who  seemed  ready  to  sink,  but  Lola,  unheeding  both, 
clutched  Miss  Myrick's  arm. 

"  Charlie  ?  "  she  gasped. 

"Oh,  Lola!  he's  gone;  his  room  is  empty  and  all  his 
papers  have  been  stolen  or  destroyed.  My  poor,  poor  boy." 

"Gone — to  his  death  without  me!  How  cruel  —  but  I 
am  coming,  Charlie  ;  I  will  follow  you." 

Her  eyes  were  wandering,  and  she  broke  from  Miss  Myrick's 
grasp. 

"Hold  her,"  cried  Miss  Myrick,  "hold  her.  Charlie  is 
dead  and  she  is  crazed.  Help !  " 

Mr.  Wheaton  was  beside  himself,  and  Mrs.  Wheaton  flung 
her  arms  about  Lola,  who  was  struggling  to  free  herself.  At 
last  her  father's  strong  hands  bore  her  to  a  sofa  in  the  nearest 
room,  and  as  he  laid  her  down  the  weary  eyes  closed  and  the 
fainting  head  drooped  back. 

"Not  dead,"  he  groaned.     "Oh,  God,  not  dead!"  and 
as  the  mother  and  the  strange  woman  bent  low  over  the  pros- 
trate girl,  a  tall,  manly  form  broke  into  the  room,  as  though 
led  there  by  an  unerring  instinct. 
22*  R 


258  OVERLAND    TALES. 

"Oh,  my  darling,"  and  he  knelt  beside  the  sofa,  chafing 
her  hands  and  kissing  her  cold  brow;  "  wake  up ;  you  are 
mine,  and  we  will  not  die,  but  live  together.  Open  your 
eyes,  darling ;  nothing  more  will  part  us  now.  See,  I  am 
rich  once  more,  and  no  one  shall  come  between  us.  Look 
up,  darling.  Come  back  to  me." 

Slowly  his  kisses  brought  a  faint  color  to  her  brow  and 
cheek ;  and  when  she  opened  her  eyes  and  he  pressed  warm 
kisses  on  her  lips,  there  was  none  to  say  him  nay.  Papa 
Wheaton  was  occupied  with  his  handkerchief — he  seemed 
suffering  from  a  fresh-caught  cold,  and  Mrs.  Wheaton  stood 
with  clasped  hands  watching  her  daughter's  motionless  form. 

Miss  Myrick  alone  had  noticed  the  graybearded,  sun-burned 
man  who  had  come  into  the  house  with  Charlie.  The  stran- 
ger had  gazed  silently  on  Mrs.  Wheaton  till  a  mist  gathered 
in  his  eyes,  and  he  said  softly  to  himself,  "  Dolorosa ! " 
Then  the  name  has  been  a  prophecy,  and  my  poor  Annie  went 
through  life  —  Dolores. 

Lola  moved  at  last,  and  as  Charlie  lifted  her  tenderly  in 
his  arms,  no  one  stepped  forward  to  separate  them. 

"  She  is  mine  now  !  "  he  cried  exultingly,  and  he  held  up 
to  Mr.  Wheaton's  view  a  morning  paper.  "  It  was  false  about 
the  Golden  Lamb,  and  I  am  worth  a  hundred  thousand  to- 
day. ' ' 

"And  besides,"  the  stranger  introduced  himself  with  a 
courteous  bow  to  Mr.  Wheaton,  "  Charles  Somervale  is  my 
nephew  and  will  be  my  heir.  I  am  a  total  stranger  to  you, 
so  I  beg  to  refer  you  to  the  house  of  Daniel  Meyer  &  Co." 

At  the  sound  of  the  voice  Mrs.  Wheaton  had  hastily  scanned 
his  features;  then  she  staggered  against  the  wall  with  a  look 
on  her  face  that  spoke  so  plainly  of  a  life-long  sorrow,  of  a 
pain  for  which  there  is  no  remedy  on  earth,  that  Miss  Myrick, 
forgetting  all  the  hard  feelings  she  had  shown  at  first,  sprang 
forward  and  passed  her  arm  around  the  falling  woman. 


THE    GOLDEN  LAMB,  259 

"The  excitement  has  been  too  much  for  her,"  she  said; 
"leave  the  room,  all  of  you,  and  I  will  bring  her  to  herself." 

But  Mrs.  Wheaton's  was  a  strong  nature. 

"It  is  nothing,"  she  said,  and  she  turned  slowly  to  the 
stranger.  "Let  your  coming  to  this  house  on  a  New- Year's 
morning  —  though  you  knew  not  who  its  inmates  were  —  be 
an  earnest  of  your  kind  feeling  for  them,  and  let  us  be  united 
in  the  wish  for  the  happiness  of  my  child  and  the  child  of 
your  dead  sister." 

The  stranger  had  advanced  and  raised  Mrs.  Wheaton's  hand 
for  a  moment  to  his  lips. 

"  To-morrow  I  take  ship  to  return  to  the  far  Indies ;  but 
my  wishes  and  prayers  shall  always  be  for  the  happiness  of 
these  children,  and  —  the  peace  of  mind  of  Annie  —  my 
Dolores  loved  and  lost." 

The  last  words  were  spoken  in  a  husky  whisper,  and  none 
saw  the  tear  that  fell  on  Mrs.  Wheaton's  ice-cold  hand.  Her 
own  eyes  were  dry ;  and  though  she  had  not  lowered  them, 
she  felt  the  tear  burning  its  way  into  her  very  soul. 

Mr.  Wheaton's  cheery  voice  roused  her. 

"The  boy,  children  —  have  you  all  forgotten  about  the  boy? 
Matilda's  son,  sir,"  shaking  Charlie  by  the  hand,  "a  fine, 
healthy  boy.  One  of  the  family  now,  Charlie  —  come  and 
-see." 

But  who  can  blame  Charlie  for  declining  to  go?  His  uncle 
had  left  the  house,  and  Aunt  Myrick  had  gone  with  Mrs. 
Wheaton  up-stairs,  there  to  renew  the  friendship  broken  off 
years  ago,  because  of  the  lonely  man  who  was  standing  at 
this  moment,  gazing  far  out  on  the  restless,  ever-changing  sea. 

We  could  not  be  indiscreet  enough  to  play  eavesdropper 
after  everybody  but  Lola  and  Charlie  had  left  the  parlor,  but 
we  have  it  on  good  authority  that  Uncle  Barton  is  to  be  pres- 
ent at  the  wedding  ceremony  before  taking  ship  again  for  the 
far  Indies. 


IT  OCCURRED  AT  TUCSON. 

WELL,  perhaps  it  isn't  much  of  a" place,  after  you  get 
there,  though  harder  to  describe  than  many  a  town  of 
fifty  times  its  size  and  importance.  But  it  is  the  cap- 
ital of  Arizona,  and  a  fair  representation  of  the  whole  Ter- 
ritory. Could  you  be  lifted  from  the  midst  of  civilization, 
and  "let  down"  in  Tucson  over  night,  you  would  know  at 
once  what  the  rest  of  Arizona  is. 

How  like  a  fata  morgana  it  looks  when  you  first  see  it  in 
this  enchanted  atmosphere :  the  intensely  blue  sky  overhead, 
the  plain  about  it  covered  with  sparse  grass  and  fantastic 
cactus,  that  hide  the  sand  and  make  the  earth  look  verdant ; 
the  low,  white  dome  and  the  picturesque  buildings  clustering 
about  it ;  the  adobe  garden-walls,  with  arched  gateways,  some- 
times whitened,  sometimes  left  in  their  native  mud  color, 
toned  down  by  age  and  the  glare  of  the  sun ;  a  tall  mesquite- 
tree  or  a  group  of  cotton-woods  striving  heavenward  from 
among  the  adobe  houses ;  Saddle  Mountain,  with  its  ever- 
changing  tints  and  its  strong  lights  and  shades  in  the  far  dis- 
tance, and  Sugar-loaf  or  Sentinel  Hill  to  the  immediate  left. 
On  the  plain  between  town  and  the  Sugar-loaf,  the  ruins  of 
what,  in  any  other  country,  I  should  pronounce  to  have  been 
a  monastery,  lift  themselves  from  the  fresh,  dewy  green — ven- 
erable, gray,  and  stately  —  some  wild  vine  creeping  stealthily 
in  at  the  frameless  window,  and  out  again  at  the  roofless  top. 

Having  purposely  avoided  a  close  inspection  of  this  spot, 
for  fear  of  being  compelled  to  see  that  the  ruins  were  only 
coarse  mud-walls,  standing  in  a  wilderness  of  hideous  sand 

260 


IT  OCCURRED  AT  TUCSON.  26l 

and  clay,  flecked  with  stiff  bunch-grass,  the  contemplation 
of  it,  with  my  mind's  eye,  is  one  of  the  pleasures  of  memory 
to  me,  even  at  this  day.  Could  I  have  avoided  passing 
through  the  streets  of  Tucson,  perhaps  I  could  think  of  it, 
too,  as  a  charming  and  delightful  place.  There  are  gardens 
down  on  our  left,  as  we  come  in  from  this  side,  that  "blos- 
som as  the  rose,"  and  are  overshadowed  by  just  such  beau- 
tiful, waving  trees  as  we  see  in  among  the  houses  yonder; 
and,  from  these  "indications,"  we  are  justified  in  supposing 
that  we  will  find  parterres  of  flowers  in  the  gardens  sur- 
rounded by  those  high  walls.  But  we  have  forgotten  to  take 
into  account  that  a  stream  of  water  flows  along  those  fields ; 
that  gardens  don't  flourish  here  without  water,  and  that  water 
in  the  town  can  only  be  had  by  digging  deep  down  into  the 
hard  ground. 

The  elite  of  the  Spanish  population  pride  themselves  on 
their  gardens  —  flower-beds  in  the  inclosed  court-yards;  flower- 
beds raised  some  three  or  four  feet  from  the  ground  and  walled 
around  with  stones — but  if  the  flowers  that  grow  on  these 
elevations  are  "  few  and  far  between,"  they  make  up  in  color 
and  fragrance  what  they  lack  in  numbers.  The  court-yard 
is  usually  flagged,  like  the  best  room  in  the  house,  and  the 
whole  is  kept  cool  and  fresh  by  continual  sprinkling  and 
irrigating.  This,  however,  is  correct  only  of  a  very  few 
houses ;  the  average  Mexican,  even  though  his  family  consist 
of  twenty  head,  lives  in  a  single  dark  adobe  room,  without 
winddw  or  fireplace — the  hard,  dry,  yellow  clay  within  a  con- 
tinuation of  the  hard,  dry,  yellow  clay  without  —  not  divided 
even  by  a  jealous  door.  In  summer,  the  family  live  inside 
the  house,  rolling  around  on  the  bare  floor,  or  the  straw  mat- 
ting spread  in  one  corner  —  careful  not  to  venture  into  the 
sun  that  bakes  the  barren  ground  by  their  casa  harder  and 
harder  every  day.  In  winter,  the  day  is  passed  on  the  out- 
side, the  different  members  of  the  family  shifting  their  posi- 


262  OVERLAND    TALES. 

tion  with  the  sun  —  huddling  together,  flat  on  the  ground, 
with  their  backs  against  the  wall  that  is  warmest  from  its 
rays.  What  they  do  for  a  living,  I  don't  know  :  could  they 
harvest  nectar  and  ambrosia,  instead  of  wine  and  bread,  from 
the  land  surrounding  their  miserable  houses,  they  could  not  be 
induced  to  till  it ;  and,  as  for  trade  or  handicraft,  they  have 
never  flourished  in  Tucson.  The  only  thing  that  swarthy, 
black-eyed  lad  there  will  ever  learn,  is  to  lasso  his  starved 
bronco,  or  shoulder  his  lockless  gun,  and  start  out  with  the 
pack-train,  just  loading  for  Sonora,  in  front  of  the  largest 
store  in  town.  If  he  returns  from  there  without  losing  his 
scalp,  he  will  never  rest  till  the  last  paso  has  been  spent -with 
his  compadres,  at  the  baila,  or  the  new  American  bar  and 
billiard  saloon  at  the  corner.  Nor  will  he  begrudge  his  sister, 
or  any  other  lass  to  whom  he  is  attached,  the  many-colored 
shawl  in  the  show-window  of  the  American  dry-goods  store  at 
the  other  corner ;  and,  should  anything  be  left  then,  he  will 
conscientiously  devote  it  toward  promoting  the  bull-fight  that 
is  to  come  off  next  Sunday. 

"  Miserable  people,  a  miserable  place,  and  a  miserable 
life  ! "  came  from  between  the  set,  white  teeth  of  a  little  per- 
sonage at  the  window  of  a  house  lying  on  something  of  an 
eminence,  in  the  "fashionable"  quarter  of  the  town,  as  she 
absently  gazed  on  the  fields,  bright  and  alive  with  the  stir 
and  the  sun  of  this  pleasant  July  afternoon. 

The  fact  of  the  house  having  windows,  and  the  windows 
being  set  with  glass,  marks  it  as  one  of  the  "aristocratic" 
houses,  though  the  man  who  built  it,  only  two  years  ago,  had 
come  empty-handed  and  broken  in  heart  and  spirit  from 
scenes  of  desolation  and  wretchedness  in  the  Southern  States. 
If  ever  a  man  buried  hope,  ambition,  and  life-energy  with  the 
Lost  Cause,  that  man  was  Gray  Granville.  Even  before  the 
rebellion  broke  out,  he  had  lost  his  all  through  the  North  (as 
he  reasoned) ;  for  all  that  life  seemed  worth  living  for,  was 


IT  OCCURRED  AT  TUCSON.  263 

the  woman  he  had  loved.  A  wealthy  Northern  man  had  led 
to  the  altar  the  queenly  form  which  to  him  had  been  an  em- 
bodiment of  all  that  is  graceful  and  divine.  The  form,  life, 
and  soul  seemed  to  have  fled  from  the  eyes  into  which  he  had 
gazed  just  once  after  the  binding  words  had  been  spoken. 

When  the  war  broke  out,  he  was  among  the  first  in  the 
field ;  and,  though  fighting  for  what  he  deemed  his  rights,  he 
asked,  at  the  end  of  each  bloody  affray  —  as  did  St.  Arnaud 
at  the  Crimea — "And  is  there  no  bullet  for  me?"  And 
after  each  such  day  did  the  look  he  had  caught  from  those 
sad,  black  orbs  settle  down  deeper  into  the  shadows  of  his 
own  gray  eyes.  Returning  to  the  home  of  his  youth  once 
more,  before  starting  out  on  his  dangerous  journey  over  the 
plains  to  Arizona  —  where  he  was  to  join  an  older  brother  — 
he  found  domiciled  at  his  father's  house  his  cousin,  a  young 
girl  of  eighteen. 

In  Miss  Jenny's  eyes,  the  vague  rumor  that  Cousin  Ray  had 
been  "crossed  in  love  "  lent  an  additional  charm  to  his  hand- 
some presence,  and  the  melancholy,  half-reserved  air  that 
made  him  almost  unapproachable.  Though  there  was  appa- 
rently little  in  common  between  the  world-weary,  disap- 
pointed man  and  the  little  elfish  creature  that  looked  so 
joyfully  out  upon  the  world  with  her  light-blue  eyes,  he  un- 
consciously fell  under  the  influence  of  her  restless,  but  most 
cheerful  spirit.  Not  that  her  temper  was  always  sunny  and 
even  —  far  from  it :  but  too  often  her  eyes  would  flash  fire, 
and  the  quivering  flanks  of  the  fine-chiselled  nose  distend 
and  almost  flatten  in  the  hot,  flushed  face.  Just  so  her  Cousin 
Ray's  nostrils  were  wont  to  spread  when  angered  or  excited  — 
only  that  his  face  would  grow  white  and  more  marble-like 
than  usual. 

On  what  ground  these  two  spirits  met,  I  cannot  say;  but 
when  Gray  Granville  finally  left  his  southern  home,  it  was  in 
company  with  his  wife,  Mrs.  Jenny.  Nor  can  I  recount,  at 


264  OVERLAND    TALES. 

length,  how  love  worked  wonders,  and  the  petted,  white- 
fingered  little  lady  learned  to  take  thought  for  the  morrow 
and  the  comfort  of  her  lord  and  master ;  and  though  often 
flying  into  one  of  her  sudden  fits  of  passion,  when  a  batch  of 
"sad"  bread  was  the  reward  for  all  her  pains  and  patience, 
or  a  burn  on  her  wrist  or  fingers,  she  never  once  breathed  a 
word  of  regret  at  having  come  with  her  husband.  Her  hus- 
band never  attempted  to  subdue  her  temper  or  soothe  her 
ruffled  feelings;  but  if,  when  worn  out  with  the  day's  toil 
(of  which  he  bore  his  honest  share),  she  crept  up  beside  him, 
he  had  most  always  a  kind  word  for  her ;  or,  if  more  chary 
of  words  than  usual,  a  soft  pressure  of  the  little  hand  that 
had  stolen  into  his,  told  her  that  her  affection  was  felt  and 
appreciated. 

Shortly  after  their  arrival  in  Tucson,  he  was  prostrated  by 
the  horrible  fever  which  this  place  has  in  store  for  most 
strangers.  The  petite  frame  of  the  wife  resisted  the  enemy  to 
whom  the  stalwart  man  was  forced  to  yield  ',  and  with  untiring 
devotion  she  watched  by  him  through  the  long  days  and  the 
lonely  nights.  He  needed  sleep,  the  doctor  said ;  and  she 
crept  about  like  a  little  mouse.  But,  hanging  over  him,  and 
listening  to  his  low,  irregular  breathing,  such  a  terror  would 
seize  her  that,  bending  close  to  his  ear,  she  would  plead, 
"  Ray —  Cousin  Ray  —  are  you  alive  ?  Speak  to  me,  please. ' ' 
Then  the  heavy  eyes  would  open  for  a  moment,  and  she 
remain  quiet,  till  her  fears  got  the  better  of  her  judgment 
again.  But  never  a  look  of  reproach  came  into  the  weary 
eyes,  .and  never  a  word  from  the  white  lips,  though  his  life 
had  nearly  been  a  forfeit  to  her  loving,  but  impatient  spirit. 

Nor  did  she  once  fly  into  a  passion  during  the  long  days 
of  his  convalescence ;  but  when  he  had  quite  recovered,  she 
proved  that  she  had  not  left  her  temper  behind  her  in  the 
South,  where  he,  according  to  her  accusation,  had  left  his 
tongue.  There  were  days  in  which  he  seemed  to  live  only  in 


IT  OCCURRED  AT  TUCSON.  26$ 

a  dream,  so  silent  were  his  lips ;  but  the  office  which  had 
been  bestowed  upon  him,  almost  against  his  will,  was  ably 
and  faithfully  filled  —  though  a  bend  of  the  head  or  a  single 
terse  sentence  was  given,  where  other  men  would  have  deemed 
volumes  of  speech  necessary.  It  was  no  wonder  that  his  wife 
flew  into  a  rage,  when,  as  sometimes  happened,  she  had 
recounted  to  him  the  troubles  and  trials  of  the  day  —  which 
were  not  few — and  found,  at  the  end  of  an  hour's  harangue, 
that  he  had  neither  heard  nor  understood  a  word  of  what  she 
had  said,  but  seemed  to  waken  from  a  trance  at  the*  little 
pettish  shake  she  gave  his  arm.  Then  she  would  accuse  him 
of  not  loving  her,  bewail  her  sad  lot,  and  vow  to  grow  silent 
and  unloving  like  himself.  After  a  season  of  storming  on  her 
part,  and  utter  silence  on  his,  she  would  creep  back  to  her 
old  place  beside  him,  to  find  her  kiss  returned,  and  any 
cunningly  devised  question,  calculated  and  shaped  toward 
reconciliation,  answered  by  him,  kindly  and  calmly  as  ever. 

One  afternoon,  while  Cousin  Ray  sat  in  his  office  —  silent, 
preoccupied,  and  moody  as  usual  —  the  din  and  confusion 
of  an  extensive  dog-fight  disturbed  his  reveries.  A  cloud  of 
dust  and  dogs  rolled  up  to  the  office-door,  and  the  next 
moment  the  attorney  of  the  Territory  stood  in  the  street,  a 
club  in  one  hand  and  a  "rock"  in  the  other.  A  few  well- 
aimed  blows  soon  freed  "  the  under-dog  in  the  fight"  from 
his  half-dozen  assailants  ',  and  with  a  half-sneaking,  half-con- 
fident air,  the  little  ugly  thing  —  part  cur,  part  coyote,vj\\\\  a 
slight  tinge  of  sheep-dog  —  followed  his  deliverer  to  the  office. 
When  evening  came,  the  dog  shyly,  but  persistently,  followed 
his  newly-elected  master  home ;  and  Mrs.  Jenny,  after  first 
bitterly  railing  both  at  her  husband  and  the  dog,  proceeded 
to  set  supper  before  them  with  equal  care  and  conscientious- 
ness. Next  morning  she  found  occasion  to  anathematize 
Arizona  in  general  and  Tucson  in  particular;  and,  her  eye 
falling  on  the  new  acquisition,  she  instantly  attacked  him. 
23 


266  OVERLAND    TALES. 

"Get  away  with  you!  Of  all  things  in  creation  you're 
the  ugliest,  and  your  name  should  be  Tucson,  too." 

And  Tucson  it  was,  from  that  day  out.  The  dog  soon 
learned  to  understand  Mrs.  Jenny  as  his  master  did,  only  he 
could  not  be  brought  to  endure  her  bursts  of  temper  with  the 
same  gentlemanly  calmness.  His  meals  were  as  well  and 
regularly  provided  as  though  he  had  a  well-founded  claim  to 
the  best  of  treatment ;  and  of  an  evening,  when  Cousin  Ray 
was  absent,  he  was  left  at  home,  and  admitted  to  the  sitting- 
room,'  where  a  small  piece  of  Mrs.  Jenny's  dress-skirt  was 
tacitly  admitted  to  be  his  privilege  during  his  master's  absence. 
But  only  during  his  absence :  as  soon  as  his  footstep  was 
heard  approaching  from  the  street,  Mrs.  Jenny  seemed  sud- 
denly to  discover  the  dog's  proximity,  and  with  a  threatening 
"You  get  out !  "  the  dress-skirt  was  quickly  withdrawn,  while 
Tucson,  made  wise  by  experience,  would  spring  to  a  safe  dis- 
tance, and  there  flash  defiance  at  her,  with  his  white  teeth 
and  his  glittering  black  eyes. 

Last  night,  however,  the  edge  of  the  dress-skirt  had  been 
carefully  gathered  up  from  the  floor,  and  Tucson,  on  growling 
his  dissatisfaction,  had  been  turned  into  the  cold,  open  hall, 
where  he  met  his  master  with  a  little  whine  when  he  came 
home,  late,  and  more  moody  and  buried  in  thought  than  ever. 
Nevertheless,  he  stooped  to  pat  the  dog's  shaggy  head,  before 
entering  the  room,  with  a  half-drawn  sigh.  Mfs.  Jenny  had 
well  merited  the  reproach  she  always  flung  at  her  husband, 
this  night,  so  silently  and  noiselessly  she  moved  around  the 
room.  Cousin  Ray  cast  on  her  just  one  look  —  that  said 
more  than  all  the  words  she  had  spoken  for  years ;  but  she 
did  not  heed  it,  and,  with  another  sigh,  at  the  remembrance 
of  the  letter  signed  "  Margaret,"  which  she  had  found,  in  his 
pocket  that  morning,  he  sought  the  couch  where  neither  sleep 
nor  peace  came  to  the  two.  Early  the  next  morning  he  had 
gone  to  the  office,  but  returned  before  noon,  and  mounted 


IT  OCCURRED  AT  TUCSON.  267 

his  stout  bronco,  being  accompanied  by  a  small  number  of 
Americans  and  an  old  Mexican  guide. 

It  was  not  the  first  time  Mrs.  Jenny  had  helped  equip  and 
furnish  a  cavalcade  of  this  kind,  for  a  prospecting  or  mining 
expedition ;  and,  unbidden,  she  brought  out  her  husband's 
warmest  wraps  and  her  best  stores  from  the  larder.  For  a 
moment  her  cheeks  blanched,  as,  from  a  few  chance  words 
she  caught,  she  was  led  to  believe  that  the  object  of  the  jour- 
ney was  the  finding  of  the  firmly-believed-in  Jesuit,  or  Hidden 
Silver-mine.  But  her  husband  volunteered  no  explanation ; 
and  she  would  show  him,  for  once,  that  she  could  refrain 
from  asking  questions.  As  he  approached  and  bent  over  her 
to  bid  her  good-by,  the  fatal  white  envelope  that  had  so 
angered  her  yesterday,  again  gleamed  from  an  inside  pocket ; 
and,  hastily  drawing  back,  she  spoke  sharply  in  answer  to  his 
cordial  words : 

"  You  need  never  come  back  to  me  with  that  letter  in  your 
pocket.  Never  —  never  !  " 

And,  passing  in  through  the  hall-door,  she  saw  Tucson 
quenching  his  thirst  eagerly,  as  preparing  for  a  long  run,  at 
his  basin  on  the  floor.  Quick  as  thought  she  had  caught  him 
up  in  her  arms,  and,  carrying  him  to  the  door,  she  flung  him 
with  all  her  force  against  Cortez,  who  was  just  moving  off, 
with  his  master  on  his  back. 

"Go  along  with  your  master,  you  ugly  brute,  /never 
want  to  see  you  again  —  never,  never  !  "  and  the  heavy  door 
closed  with  a  loud  bang. 

Then  she  went  back  to  her  household  duties,  never  heeding 
that  the  sun  had  reached  the  meridian,  and  never  pausing  till 
material  and  strength  together  were  thoroughly  exhausted. 
At  last,  after  obstinately  brushing  down  the  curls  that  would 
as  obstinately  spring  up  again,  she  drew  near  to  the  window. 
She  never  knew  how  long  she  stood  there;  but  when  the 
women  by  the  acequia,  in  the  tree -bordered  field,  away  down 


268  OVERLAND    TALES. 

from  the  house,  packed  the  linen  they  had  made  a  pretence  of 
washing  all  day,  into  their  large,  round  baskets  to  carry  home 
for  the  night,  Mrs.  Jenny — uttering  her  verdict  on  the  people 
and  the  place  —  turned  sharply  on  her  heel,  and  opened  the 
box  containing  her  outdoor  garments.  Her  hat  was  soon  tied 
on,  and  a  heavy  shawl  thrown  over  her  arm,  to  guard  against 
the  cool  of  the  night  that  might  overtake  her.  Pleasantly 
returning  the  greeting  that  all  who  met  her  offered,  she  went 
unmolested  on  her  way  till  she  reached  the  last  huts  of  the 
Papagoes  —  who  burrow  here,  half  underground,  at  a  respect- 
able distance  from  the  better  class  of  Mexicans.  From  the 
door  of  a  stray  adobe,  that  looked  like  an  advance-post  of  rude 
civilization  among  these  wicker-huts,  a  female  voice,  in  the 
musical  language  that  the  roughest  of  these  Mexicans  use, 
called  after  her : 

"  Holy  Virgin,  senora,  are  you  not  afraid  of  the  Apaches?" 

But,  like  the  youth  who  bore  "  the  banner  with  the  strange 

device,"  she  passed  on,  heedless  and  silent,  to  all  appearances, 

but  saying,  within  her  stubborn  little  heart,  "Indians  or  no 

Indians,  I'm  going  to  Cousin  Will's." 

In  less  than  an  hour's  time,  the  barking  of  dogs  fell  on  her 
ear,  and,  though  no  trace  of  fence,  orchard,  or  barn  could  be 
seen,  she  knew  that  in  and  beyond  that  grove  of  mesquite- 
trees  lay  Cousin  Will's  possessions  —  counted  one  of  the  finest 
farms  in  the  Territory.  Directly  she  turned  from  the  road 
into  an  open  space,  where  a  low,  solid  adobe  house  and  two 
or  three  dilapidated  jacales  represented  a  comfortable  farm- 
house and  extensive  out-buildings,  to  the  right  of  which  a 
large  field  of  waving  corn  stretched  downward  to  the  river. 
Back  of  the  house  blossomed  a  little  garden,  the  scarlet  gera- 
nium covering  almost  the  whole  wall ;  from  the  garden  the 
ground  fell  abruptly  to  the  water,  where  a  clump  of  willows 
and  cotton-woods  shaded  a  large  cool  spring.  But  the  most 
surprising  feature  of  this  Arizona  scene  was  a  spring-house, 


IT  OCCURRED  AT  TUCSON.  269 

which,  though  built  of  adobe,  looked  just  as  natural,  and  held 
just  as  rich,  sweet  milk  as  any  spring-house  found  in  the 
Western  States. 

Mrs.  Jenny,  however,  had  no  time  to  advance  to  this  spot, 
even  had  such  been  her  intention.  The  barking  of  the  dogs 
had  called  a  dozen  or  two  of  swarthy  little  Cupids  from  the 
jacales  and  other  resorts  of  the  peones,  who,  with  a  simulta- 
neous shout,  had  rushed  in  a  body  to  the  house  of  the  master, 
announcing  the  coming  of  the  unexpected  visitor.  Cousin 
Will  and  his  wife  —  one  of  those  grand,  black-eyed  women, 
with  the  bearing  of  a  princess,  whom  we  find  among  the  old 
Spanish  families — met  the  sister-in-law  long  before  she  reached 
the  house.  Cousin  Will's  wife  greeted  her  sister-in-law  cor- 
dially as  "  Juana;  "  while  Mrs.  Jenny  held  to  the  more  formal 
"Dona  Inez,"  which  she  had  never  yet  dropped  —  perhaps 
on  account  of  a  fancied  likeness  between  her  and  Margaret, 
of  whom  she  had  secretly  begged  a  most  minute  description 
from  one  of  the  younger  brothers  in  her  uncle's  house,  at 
home. 

''Why  did  Brother  Ray  let  you  come  out  here  alone?" 
asked  the  older  brother,  almost  indignantly. 

Dona  Inez,  who  understood  English,  smiled  a  good  humored, 
but  expressive- smile ;  noticing  which,  Mrs.  Jenny  supple- 
mented, without  the  least  resentment:  "And,  besides,  he 
wasn't  at  home  to  try.  He  started  out  this  morning  with 
Blake,  and  Goodwin,  and  old  Pedrillo." 

"To  look  for  the  Hidden  Mine  of  the  Padres?  Oh,  the 
foolish,  foolish  boy  !  Had  I  known  how  determined  he  was 
to  go,  I  should  not  have  left  him  last  night.  Will  he  never 
stop  dreaming  and  chasing  after  shadows?  " 

Cousin  Will  was  full  twenty  years  his  brother's  senior ;  and 

it  was,  perhaps,  the  recollection  of  the  almost  fatherly  love 

he  had  always  shown  for  the  younger  brother  that  made  Mrs. 

Jenny,  suddenly,  when  Dona  Inez  had  left  the  room,  fling  her 

23* 


2/0  OVERLAND    TALES. 

hat  on  the  floor,  herself  on  the  lounge,  and  give  way  to  the 
tears  that  had  gathered  in  her  heart  all  day.  Cousin  Will 
knew  her  too  well  to  offer  a  single  word  of  comfort  or  con- 
solation ;  but  when  her  convulsive  sobs  had  ceased  at  last,  he 
told  her,  in  answer  to  her  quick,  impatient  questions,  all  he 
knew  of  the  letter,  its  contents  and  consequences. 

In  the  old  archives  of  Tucson,  to  which  Ray,  by  virtue  of 
his  office,  had  access,  he  thought  he  had  found  sufficient  proof 
of  the  existence  of  the  old  silver  ledge,  and  sufficiently  clear 
advices  of  its  location,  to  warrant  him  in  making  a  search  for 
it.  Fully  aware  of  the  many  dangers  to  which  any  party  he 
might  organize  for  that  purpose  would  be  exposed,  he  had 
long  hesitated  —  hesitated,  too,  partly  on  account  of  his  wife's 
violent  opposition,  and  partly  because  there  were  few,  whom 
he  would  select,  willing  to  go  with  him,  where  hundreds  had 
already  perished  from  the  Indian's  arrow  and  the  want  of  food 
and  water.  Three  days  ago,  the  letter  from  Margaret  had 
found  its  way  to  him.  She  was  not  long  for  this  world,  she 
said,  and,  poor  and  in  distress  —  abandoned  by  her  husband, 
who  had  been  beggared  by  the  war  —  she  pleaded  that  Ray 
should  care  for  the  two  children  she  must  leave  to  the  cold 
charity  of  strangers,  if  she  died. 

"What  will  you  do  about  it?"  his  brother  had  asked. 
And  then  Ray  had  unfolded  to  him  what  the  brother  called 
one  of  his  day-dreams.  He  would  find  the  mine,  load  Jenny 
with  the  treasures  its  discovery  would  bring,  and  send  her 
back  to  the  States,  to  find  Margaret,  or  the  children  (if  she 
were  dead),  while  he  remained  behind  to  develop  and  finally 
dispose  of  the  mine,  before  joining  his  wife.  He  knew  what 
Jenny  had  undergone  in  this  country,  for  his  sake ;  he  knew 
how  well  she  loved  him,  and  he  trusted  that,  with  her  noble 
instincts,  she  would  aid  him  in  carrying  out  his  projects  in 
regard  to  Margaret  and  her  children  —  neither  of  whom  he 
ever  intended  to  see. 


IT  OCCURRED  AT  TUCSON.  2/1 

Since  she  had  once  given  way  to  softer  feelings,  Jenny's 
better  self  arose  against  the  hard,  cruel  spirit  that  had 
prompted  her  to  turn  from  all  of  Ray's  attempts  at  kindly 
explanation.  Bitterly  she  regretted  the  harsh  words  she  had 
uttered  when  her  eyes  first  fell  on  that  miserable  letter ;  and, 
like  serpent's  fangs,  the  words  she  had  called  after  him  on 
parting,  struck  again  and  again  into  her  own  bleeding  heart. 
Restlessly  she  tossed  on  her  bed  all  night  —  the  first  to  dis- 
cover the  approach  of  a  band  of  Apaches,  from  the  uneasy 
stamping  and  the  frightened  wickering  of  the  mules  —  she 
was  the  only  one  who  insisted  that  Tucson's  bark  could  be 
heard  among  the  gang  of  coyotes  that  made  night  hideous 
with  their  howls.  With  the  first  gleam  of  the  coming  day  she 
was  up ;  and,  in  spite  of  all  her  brother-in-law  could  say,  in 
spite  of  the  suspicious  footprints  that  marked  the  ground  in 
the  neighborhood  of  the  m.u\Q- corral,  she  started  for  home, 
alone  and  unprotected,  as  she  had  come  the  night  before. 

The  gorgeous  sunrise  had  no  charm  for  her;  unheeding, 
her  eye  passed  over  the  landscape,  that  was  like  the  smile  of 
a  fair,  false  woman  —  soft  and  alluring  to  the  eye  —  a  bright 
mask  only,  veiling  death  and  destruction  from  those  who  were 
blinded  by  it.  When  near  the  town,  a  small,  ragged-looking 
object  came  ambling  swiftly  toward  her. 

"What — Tucson?  "  and  then,  apostrophizing  the  dog,  who 
crouched  in  the  sand  at  her  feet  with  a  pitiful  whine:  "You 
mean  little  deserter  !  Could  n't  you  hold  out  as  long  as  your 
master?  And  I  know  your  master  has  not  come  back  yet." 
Nor  had  he  —  though  she  entered  the  house  with  an  insane 
hope  that  she  might  meet  the  grave  eyes  peering  out  from  the 
gloom  of  the  darkened  hall.  After  another  sharp  reprimand, 
she  prepared  Tucson's  breakfast  from  a  part  of  her  own  ;  and 
then  flew  into  a  passion  and  drove  the  dog  from  the  house, 
because,  instead  of  tasting  a  mouthful,  he  insisted  on  drag- 
ging her  to  the  door  by  the  dress-skirt,  and  barking  and  howl- 
ing in  turn,  when  she  refused  to  come. 


2/2  OVERLAND    TALES. 

Later  in  the  morning,  when  she  had  occasion  to  go  "  down 
town  "  for  something,  she  recounted  how  the  dog  had  shrunk 
from  the  fatigues  of  the  prospecting-trip,  and  had  returned  to 
his  comfortable  quarters  at  home.  "  But  I  drove  him  from 
the  house;  and  I  guess  he  has  gone  to  overtake  his  master 
now — I  don't  see  him  around  any  more." 

He  had  gone  to  overtake  his  master  —  but  not  alone.  The 
dog's  strange  bearing  had  excited  suspicion  —  here,  where 
people  are  always  on  the  alert  for  danger  and  evil  of  all 
kinds.  Before  the  sun  was  well  up,  a  little  band  of  well- 
armed  citizens  was  on  the  trail  that  Gray  Granville  and  his 
friends  had  travelled  but  the  day  before. 

Well  for  Jenny  that  her  eye  never  caught  the  meaning  of 
the  looks  thrown  on  her  as  she  passed  through  the  straggling 
streets  back  to  her  own  home ;  well  for  her  that  the  soft- 
voiced  senoras,  who  came  to  her  in  the  dusk  of  the  evening, 
could  check  the  word  of  sympathy  that  rose  from  the  heart  to 
the  lip.  Ah,  me  ! 

And  in  Jenny's  voice  there  was  a  new  tone ;  a  new  light 
was  in  her  eye,  and  —  a  new  greeting  in  her  heart  for  Cousin 
Ray.  If  he  would  only  come  soon  !  Of  course,  he  could  not 
return  for  a  day  or  two ;  perhaps  not  for  a  week ;  but  when 
he  did  come  — 

"Petra,"  said  Jenny,  "you  must  play  me  Cray's  favorite 
air  to-night ' '  —  and  she  hastened  to  the  corner  where  the 
harp  of  the  girl,  who  was  a  pet  of  Mrs.  Jenny's,  and  Ray's 
too,  was  generally  kept. 

"No,  senora  —  no;  not  this  night,"  remonstrated  the  girl. 
"The  wind  howls  so  dismally  —  and  there  is  no  moon  in  the 
sky ;  and  then,  you  know,  I  cannot  sing." 

Petra  was  whimsical,  and  what  she  said  was  true :  the  wind 
passed  with  a  low,  sobbing  sound  through  the  bare,  wide  hall, 
and  swept  up  to  the  door,  where  it  shook  the  lock  as  with 
living  fingers. 


IT  OCCURRED  AT  TUCSON.  2/3 

Mrs.  Jenny  drew  back  the  curtain  and  laughed. 

"In  our  country,  people  don't  like  to  own  that  they're 
moon-struck ;  but  you  are  right  —  the  night  is  black  as  ink, 
and  —  why  —  there  is  quite  a  company  coming  up  the  hill 
toward  us,  with  lights  and  torches.  Going  to  the  governor's 
house,  probably ;  but  who  can  they  be  ?  " 

"  We  can  slip  out  of  the  back-door,  directly,  and  look  over 
to  the  house  :  then  the  men  cannot  say  that  we  have  undue 
curiosity,"  suggested  Anita,  desperately;  and  Mrs.  Jenny 
dropped  the  curtain. 

Petra's  blanched  face  drooped  low,  over  a  book  she  had 
snatched  up  from  the  table ;  and  Anita's  hands  were  clasped 
in  a  silent  prayer  to  the  Holy  Virgin.  But  the  train  came 
nearer,  and  —  "Hark!  they  stop  here  —  at  this  door  —  it  is 
Ray  —  Cousin  Ray  !  ' '  And  Jenny  was  on  the  threshold  — 
where  half  a  dozen  gloomy,  earnest  faces  met  her  gaze. 

There  was  a  horse  there,  too  —  stamping  with  a  half-fright- 
ened motion,  and  a  low,  shivering  neigh ;  and  as  she  sprang 
forward  with  a  shriek  —  a  terrified  question  rising  uncon- 
sciously to  her  lips  —  a  dog  flew  at  her  with  an  angry  howl, 
tearing  at  her  garments,  and  making  frantic  efforts  to  prevent 
her  touching  the  motionless  form  on  the  back  of  the  horse. 

To  Jenny's  ear  the  dog's  wild  yells  spoke  terribly  plain  her 
own  cruel  "Never  —  never  —  never!"  but  among  the  men 
there  was  a  hasty  murmur  that  the  beast  had  gone  mad,  from 
running  so  long  without  food  and  water.  There  was  a  flash 
and  a  sharp  report  —  Tucson's  career  had  come  to  a  close. 
And  Jenny  lay  fainting  in  the  arms  of  the  sobbing  women. 
S 


A  BIT  OF  "EARLY  CALIFORNIA:' 

rpHAT  many  strange  and  wonderful  things  happened  in 

I     early  times  in   California,   is  so   trite  a  saying  that   I 

hardly  dare  repeat  it.     As  my  story,  however,  is  neither 

harrowing  nor  sentimental,  I  hope  I  may  venture  to  bring  it 

before  the  reader. 

Long  before  the  great  Overland  Railroad  was  built,  there 
entered  one  day  one  of  the  largest  mercantile  establishments 
in  San  Francisco  a  handsome,  athletic  man,  whose  fresh, 
kindly  face  showed  a  record  of  barely  five-and-twenty  years, 
and  whose  slender  fingers  belied  the  iron  strength  with  which 
he  could  hold  and  tighten  the  threads  forming  the  net  into 
which  malefactors  are  said,  sooner  or  later,  always  to  run. 
If  he  was  a  detective  officer,  he  had  friends,  because  he  had 
a  warm  heart ;  and  in  spite  of  all  the  dark  phases  of  life  that 
were  brought  to  his  notice  every  day,  he  had  not  learned  to 
disbelieve  in  the  bright  side,  or  the  better  instincts  of- 
humanity. 

The  chief  clerk  of  this  establishment  was  Captain  Herbert's 
(the  detective  officer's)  most  intimate  friend,  and  he  had 
come  to  bid  him  good-bye  —  perchance  to  charge  him  to 
guard  the  "fatherless  and  the  widowed,"  should  the  trip  on 
which  he  was  about  to  start  out  end  disastrously  to  him. 
"Early  Californians "  realized,  better  than  any  other  class 
of  people,  the  uncertainty  of  life  —  particularly  with  those 
who  had  to  cope  with  the  desperadoes  of  that  time ;  and  the 
captain  intended  to  start  out  as  usual  —  with  the  determination 
to  do  or  to  die. 

274 


A   BIT  OF  "EARLY  CALIFORNIA."          2/5 

"By-the-by,"  said  young  Taylor,  laughing,  to  the  senior 
partner  of  the  firm,  studying  the  morning  paper  in  the  count- 
ing-room, "Mr.  McDonald  has  been  silent  for  so  long  that 
I  think  it  would  be  a  good  job,  and  an  economical  one,  to 
commission  the  captain  to  hunt  up  the  junior  partner  of  this 
firm,  at  the  same  time,  and  bring  him  in  with  the  absconding 
cattle-agent." 

The  old  gentleman  took  off  his  glasses,  and  folded  the 
paper. 

"  Yes ;  it 's  time  Harry  was  home.  I  'm  really  getting 
uneasy  about  him.  They  may  have  tempted  him  with  the 
prospect  of  a  whole  string  of  wives  as  he  passed  through  Salt 
Lake  —  whereas  here  he  can  have  only  one." 

"Give  me  his  carte-de-visite,  or  the  color  of  his  hair  and 
eyes,  height,  breadth,  and  weight,  and  I  '11  bring  him,  sure  !  " 
laughed  the  captain. 

"Thank  you  kindly,  captain;  but  I  don't  know  whether 
Mr.  McDonald  would  appreciate  your  kind  attentions ;  par- 
ticularly," continued  the  old  gentleman,  "if  enhanced  by 
those  little  steel  bracelets  you  bring  into  requisition  some- 
times." 

Twenty-four  hours  later  the  captain  was  hurrying,  as  fast  as 
the  stage-horses  could  run,  to  Salt  Lake  City,  where,  it  was 
surmised,  the  dishonest  cattle-agent  would  be  found.  A  few 
hours'  vigorous  hunt  convinced  the  captain  that  the  object  of 
his  search  was  not  there  —  circumstances  pointing  backward 
to  one  of  the  smaller  places  he  had  passed  on  his  journey 
thither;  —  and  the  next  stage  that  left  had  the  captain  for  its 
occupant  again.  The  only  other  passenger  beside  the  captain 
and  his  one  man,  was  a  rather  slender,  well-built  person,  who, 
like  himself  and  assistant,  had  both  hands  full,  literally,  to 
keep  from  being  buried  by  the  sides  of  bacon  with  which  the 
stage  was  filled  almost  to.  overflowing. 

When  night  set  in,  the  coats  of  the  captain  and  his  man, 


2/6  OVERLAND    TALES. 

and  the  woollen  shirt  of  their  travelling  companion,  seemed  all 
to  have  been  made  of  the  same  material,  thanks  to  the  equal- 
izing gloss  which  the  tumbling  sides  of  bacon  had  spread  over 
everything ;  but  they  fought  the  pork  as  valiantly  as  ever  true- 
believing  Israelite  had  done.  There  was  little  rest  for  them 
through  the  night,  and  no  sleep ;  the  treacherous  bacon-sides, 
that  had  been  closely  packed  to  serve  as  pillows,  would  unex- 
pectedly slip  away  from  under  their  weary  heads ;  and  the 
bacon  barricades,  laboriously  built,  would  descend  like  an 
avalanche  of  blows  and  hard  knocks,  when  left  unguarded  by 
the  drowsy  travellers. 

Luckily  the  bacon  was  left,  the  next  morning,  at  a  little 
town  where  it  was  wanted  more  than  in  the  stage  coach ;  and 
the  captain,  who  had  passed  nothing  on  the  road  without  cast- 
ing on  it  at  least  half  of  his  keen,  official  eye,  gathered  enough 
information  here  to  feel  confident  of  finding  his  game  in  one 
of  the  little  new  places  springing  up  on  the  mail-line  in 
Nevada.  They  reached  the  place  next  day  at  nightfall  —  it 
was  near  the  border  of  California  —  and  the  captain  saw  at  a 
glance  that  it  would  be  warm  work  to  cage  any  of  the  ill- 
favored  birds  who  flocked  about  this  place.  Warm  work  it 
would  have  been  under  any  circumstances :  but  made  more 
difficult  by  the  fact  that  the  man  in  question  had  absconded 
from  his  employers  in  British  Columbia  somewhere,  had 
merely  passed  through  San  Francisco  with  his  plunder  —  some 
thirty-six  thousand  dollars  —  and  could  have  defied  all  the 
law  officers  in  California,  if  they  came,  as  the  captain  did, 
with  only  the  commission  of  the  victimized  cattle-owner,  but 
without  the  authority  that  the  existing  relations  between 
British  Columbia  and  the  United  States  made  necessary. 

Among  the  gamblers  and  roughs  loafing  about  the  hotel, 
the  captain's  quick  eye  had  soon  lighted  on  the  right  man ; 
and  after  quietly  taking  his  supper  -with  his  companions,  he 
proceeded  to  arrest  him.  Of  course  there  was  an  outcry  and 


A   BIT  OF  "EARL  Y  CALIFORNIA."          277 

a  hubbub  among  the  patrons  of  this  hotel,  and  the  captain, 
who  knew  where  his  customer  came  from,  gave  the  guilty  man 
to  understand  that  lynching  a  man  who  was  no  better  than  a 
horse-thief,  was  nothing  unusual  in  California  and  Nevada; 
but  that  if  he,  the  prisoner,  would  promise  to  remain  quietly 
up-stairs  in  the  room  with  the  captain's  man,  he  himself  would 
go  back  into  the  bar-room  and  try  to  persuade  the  people  to 
desist  from  carrying  out  any  horrible  plans  they  might  have 
formed.  The  prisoner  seemed  to  feel  weak  in  the  knees; 
asked  permission  to  lie  down,  and  sadly  but  gently  extended 
his  hands  to  the  alluring  steel  wristlets  which  the  captain  per- 
suasively held  out.  Returning  to  the  bar-room,  the  latter 
singled  out  the  head  bully,  approached  him  confidentially, 
and  whispered  that  on  him  he  must  depend  for  assistance  in 
keeping  his  obstreperous  prisoner  from  breaking  away ;  that 
he  himself  and  his  assistant  were  so  tired  out  with  a  three- 
nights'  ride  and  the  fruitless  chase,  that  they  could  hardly  keep 
their  eyes  open  ;  and  that  after  seeing  the  landlord  he  would 
return  and  consult  how  they  had  best  manage  'to  keep  their 
man  safe. 

From  there  the  captain  went  straight  to  the  room  of  the 
stranger  who  had  come  in  the  stage  with  him;  to  him  he  told 
all  the  circumstances  of  the  case,  and  asked  for  his  help.  He 
was  not  mistaken  in  the  man  ;  and  the  stranger  at  once  ex- 
pressed his  determination  to  aid  the  side  of  the  law  and  the 
right.  Proceeding  together  to  the  room  of  the  prisoner,  the 
captain's  assistant  was  instructed  to  procure,  as  secretly  as 
possible,  a-  conveyance  for  himself,  the  stranger,  and  the 
prisoner,  to  the  next  town  —  already  in  California  —  some 
thirty  miles  away.  Then  there  were  more  dark  fears  expressed 
concerning  mobs  and  lawless  proceedings,  and  hints  thrown 
out,  suggestive  of  the  contempt  in  which  horse-thieves  and 
the  like  were  held,  and  a  clump  of  trees  was  spoken  of,  that 
stood  close  by  the  hotel  a.'id  had  been  found  convenient  for 
24 


2/8  OVERLAND    TALES. 

hanging  purposes  before  this.  The  stranger  was  left  to  guard 
the  prisoner,  and  the  captain  made  his  way  to  the  bar-room, 
where  he  was  examined  in  the  most  friendly  and  patronizing 
manner,  concerning  "that  little  affair;"  how  much  money 
the  man  had  taken,  whether  the  captain  had  yet  recovered  it, 
and  what  he  meant  to  do  next.  Not  a  cent  of  the  money  had 
been  recovered  as  yet,  the  captain  said  (with  thirty-five  thou- 
sand dollars  neatly  tucked  away  about  his  person),  but  he 
hoped  that  with  good  help  —  winking  at  the  most  ill-favored 
among  them  —  he  would  get  both  the  man  and  his  money 
safely  into  California.  He  was  not  sparing  in  treats,  and  had 
the  crowd  drink  the  health  and  success  of  everybody  and 
everything  he  could  think  of,  till  at  last,  apparently  over- 
powered with  sleep,  he  beckoned  the  rowdy  he  had  spoken  to 
before  to  one  side.  Familiarly  tapping  him  on  the  shoulder, 
he  said,  trustingly: 

"  Now,  old  fellow,  remember,  I  depend  on  you,  should  any 
of  these  rascals  here  make  an  attempt  to  assist  my  man  in  get- 
ting away  from  me.  I  'm  tired  to  death,  and  if  you  'd  sit  up 
for  an  hour  or  two  longer,  while  I  take  a  short  nap,  I  'd  take 
it  as  a  great  kindness.  At  all  events,  I  shall  handcuff  my 
prisoner  and  myself  together,  so  that  he  cannot  leave  the  bed 
without  my  knowledge." 

The  man  swore  a  thousand  oaths  that  he  'd  see  the  captain 
out  of  this,  and  then  returned  to  his  companions  —  to  plot 
the  release  of  the  thieving  cattle-agent,  who,  he  felt  certain, 
still  had  the  stolen  money  about  him.  Tired  out  and  sleepy, 
the  captain  certainly  was ;  and,  after  barricading  the  door 
with  as  much  noise  as  possible  (having  previously  nailed 
boards  across  the  window  with  a  great  deal  of  hammering), 
he  lay  down,  and  was  soon  in  a  sound  sleep.  Sometime  after 
midnight  he  was  aroused  by  loud,  heavy  blows  on  the  door. 
Of  course,  the  captain  knew  who  was  there,  and  what  they 
wanted,  just  as  well  as  though  each  member  of  the  rowdy 
delegation  had  sent  in  a  card  with  name  and  object  of  the 


A  BIT  OF  "EARLY  CALIFORNIA."          2/9 

visit  engraved  thereon.  After  considerable  parleying,  and  some 
"bloody"  threats,  the  barricade  was  slowly  removed,  the  door 
opened,  and  the  captain  discovered,  admiring  a  very  handsome 
six-shooter  in  his  hands.  His  confidential  friend,  the  bully 
from  the  bar-room,  was  spokesman  of  the  gang;  and,  after 
some  hard  staring  and  harder  swearing,  the  truth  dawned  on 
the  minds  of  these  worthies,  and  they  withdrew  from  the  room 
to  search  the  rest  of  the  house  before  taking  farther  measures. 

The  captain  resumed  his  broken  slumbers,  never  dreaming 
that  they  would  carry  proceedings  any  farther ;  but  next 
morning,  seated  on  the  stage  beside  the  driver,  he  saw  on  the 
road  the  wreck  of  a  turn-out,  and  grouped  about  it  a  number 
of  the  would-be  liberators  of  the  night  before.  They  had 
"raised"  a  team  somewhere,  and  had  started  in  pursuit  of 
the  fat  prize,  hoping  to  outwit  and  outride  justice  for  once. 
The  night  being  dark  and  their  heads  very  light,  they  had  run 
full  tilt  against  a  tree  in  the  road,  which  had  the  effect  of 
killing  one  horse,  stunning  the  other,  and  scattering  the  in- 
mates of  the  wagon  indiscriminately  over  the  ground.  Bully 
No.  i,  and  two  stars  of  lesser  magnitude,  insisted  on  mount- 
ing the  stage;  and,  on  arriving  at  the  next  town,  the  captain, 
fearing  that  the  local  authorities  would  interfere  on  the  repre- 
sentation of  these  men,  had  his  prisoner  on  the  road  again 
before  they  had  time  to  take  any  steps,  either  legal  or  illegal. 

The  horror  of  the  prisoner  can  be  imagined  when  he 
learned  that  these  terrible  men,  who  were  trying  to  get  him 
out  of  the  captain's  hands  in  order  to  mete  out  justice  on 
their  own  account,  were  actually  pursuing  him  —  probably 
with  a  rope  ready  to  slip  around  his  neck  at  the  first  opportu- 
nity. He  earnestly  besought  his  protectors  not  to  abandon 
him;  for  the  captain  had  told  him  that  he  had  no  right  to 
hold  him  as  prisoner,  and  should  have  none  until  certain 
formalities  had  been  gone  through  with  in  San  Francisco. 

On  they  flew — without  rest  —  still  pursued  by  the  three 
roughs,  who  seemed  to  have  gotten  their  spunk  up  when  they 


28O  OVERLAND    TALES. 

found  that  the  captain  was  determined  to  escape  from  them 
with  the  man  and  the  money  they  wanted  so  much.  At  last 
Sacramento  was  reached,  ,and  with  it  the  highest  pitch  of 
danger.  The  prisoner  was  informed  that  the  men  were  still 
following  him,  and  that  they  would  probably  make  an  attempt 
to  take  him  on  the  way  from  the  hotel  to  the  boat  that  was 
to  carry  them  to  San  Francisco.  All  this  was  strictly  true. 
Captain  Herbert  had  only  omitted  to  mention  the  fact  that 
there  would  be  among  the  number  of  captors  a  member  of  the 
Sacramento  police,  to  which  both  the  roughs  had  applied, 
setting  forth  that  the  man  was  illegally  restrained  of  his  lib- 
erty, etc.  The  prisoner  shook  in  his  boots,  and  probably 
wished  in  his  heart  that  he  was  safely  back  in  British  Colum- 
bia, with  the  cattle  unsold,  and  his  employer  unrobbed. 
What  was  to  be  done?  Time  was  flying,  and  he  must  be 
gotten  on  to  that  boat,  or  he  might  never  see  San  Francisco ; 
so  feared  the  captain  as  well  as  his  prisoner. 

Again  it  was  the  intrepid  stranger  and  travelling  companion 
who  came  to  the  rescue.  The  captain's  plan  was  ''hatched  " 
and  carried  out  in  a  very  little  while.  With  a  pair  of  hand- 
cuffs clasped  on  his  wrists,  and  his  arms  securely  tied  behind, 
the  obliging  stranger  was  led  to  the  boat  by  the  hard-hearted 
captain,  who  handled  this  free-will  prisoner  very  roughly  — 
while  the  guilty  cattle-agent  was  slinking  along  with  unfet- 
tered hands  by  the  side  of  the  captain's  assistant,  to  whom  he 
"  stuck  closer  than  a  brother."  Just  as  the  captain  was  hust- 
ling his  prisoner  on  to  the  gang-plank,  a  policeman  stepped 
from  the  crowd,  laid  his  hand  on  the  man's  shoulder,  and, 
amid  the  cheering  of  the  roughs  and  the  angry  protestations 
of  the  captain,  led  him  to  the  office  of  the  nearest  justice.  The 
bond  fide  prisoner  in  the  meantime  slipped  unnoticed  on  board, 
and  was  taken  out  of  the  cold,  and  kindly  cared  for  on  reach- 
ing San  Francisco,  by  the  proper  authorities,  who  had  been 
summoned  to  meet  the  boat,  by  a  telegram  from  the  captain. 

An  excited  crowd  had  gathered  around  the  door  of  the 


A  BIT  OF  "EARLY  CALIFORNIA."          28l 

office  into  which  the  stranger  had  been  brought.  The  intense 
disgust  of  the  roughs  can  be  better  imagined  than  described 
when  their  eyes  and  ears  convinced  them,  very  much  against 
their  will,  that  their  benevolent  purposes  could  not  be  carried 
out,  and  that  this  "prisoner  at  the  bar  "  had  never  absconded 
with  anybody's  money.  They  listened  in  dogged  silence  to 
the  man's  declaration  that,  far  from  being  restrained  of  his 
liberty,  he  had  come  with  the  captain  "just  for  fun,"  and  had 
worn  the  handcuffs  because  they  were  just  an  easy  fit. 

"And  what  is  your  name  !  "  thundered  the  enraged  justice. 

"Henry  Fitzpatrick,"  was  the  quiet  reply,  "merchant, 
from  San  Francisco.  I  fell  in  with  the  captain  at  Salt  Lake, 
where  I  was  stopping  on  my  way  home  from  the  States ;  and 
as  he  's  a  mighty  clever  fellow,  I  thought  I  'd  go  all  the  way 
with  him.  Sorry  you  detained  us,  gentlemen  —  we  both  had 
urgent  business  in  San  Francisco." 

He  went  his  way  in  peace,  though  the  real  sinner  —  the 
thieving  cattle-agent  —  had  never  .been  in  as  much  danger  of 
coining  to  harm  at  the  hands  of  these  men  as  was  this  inoffen- 
sive person. 

The  captain  saw  no  more  of  him  till  a  day  or  two  after  his 
return  to  San  Francisco.  Entering  the  store  of  his  friend 
Taylor,  to  tell  him  of  his  safe  return,  he  was  surprised  to  see 
the  stranger,  Mr.  Henry  Fitzpatrick,  in  the  counting-room. 
The  senior  partner  greeted  him  with: 

"Well,  well,  captain,  so  you  brought  Harry  home  with  a 
pair  of  handcuffs  on,  after  all  !  Allow  me  to  introduce  my 
partner,  Mr.  Henry  Fitzpatrick  McDonald." 

"Happy  to  meet  you  again,  captain.  It  was  fun,  wasn't 
it,  though?  But  I  did  n't  think  it  was  necessary  to  give  those 
inquisitive  chaps  at  Sacramento  the  benefit  of  my  full  name. 
I  did  not  want  them  to  say,  in  case  I  should  ever  run  for 
office,  that  '  McDonald  had  been  led  through  the  country 
with  a  pair  of  handcuffs  on.'  " 
24* 


HER  NAME    WAS  SYLVIA. 

SAN  MATEO  !  Stages  for  Pescadero  and  Half-Moon  Bay !  " 
shouted  the  conductor,  and  a  dozen  or  two  of  passengers 
left  the  uncomfortably  crowded  car. 

Some  of  them  entered  the  handsome  equipages  in  waiting, 
to  carry  them  to  luxurious  country  residences ;  a  few  sought 
their  cottage  in  the  suburbs  on  foot ;  others,  armed  with 
satchels,  shawls,  and  field-glasses,  clambered  into  and  on  the 
stage.  Among  these,  a  young  lady  —  whose  glossy  braids 
and  brilliant  eyes  were  not  altogether  hidden  by  a  light  veil 
—  stood  irresolute,  when  the  polite  agent  addressed  her, 
"Have  a  seat  outside,  Miss  —  with  the  driver?  Very  gen- 
tlemanly person,  Miss;  ladies  mostly  like  to  ride  with  him." 
Her  indecision  was  abruptly  ended  by  the  gloved  hand  of  the 
driver,  reaching  down  without  more  ado  and  drawing  her  up, 
with  the  agent's  assistance,  gently,  but  irresistibly,  out  of 
the  crowd  and  confusion  below. 

For  the  first  five  miles  the  young  girl  saw  nothing  and 
knew  nothing  of  what  was  on  or  in  the  stage ;  her  eyes  were 
feasting  on  the  scenery,  new  to  her,  and  fascinating  in  its 
beauty  of  park-like  forest-strips  and  flower-grown  dells,  where 
tiny  brooks  were  overhung  by  tangled  brush  and  the  fresh 
foliage  of  maple-tree  and  laurel-wood.  The  sunshine  of  a 
whole  San  Francisco  year  seemed  concentrated  in  the  bright 
May  morning ;  and  the  breeze  stirred  just  enough  to  turn  to 
the  sunlight,  now  the  glossy  green  side  of  the  leaves  on  the 
live  oaks,  then  the  dull,  grayish  side  —  a  coquetry  of  nature 
making  artistic  effects, 

282 


HER   NAME    WAS  SYLVIA.  283 

At  Crystal  Springs  our  friend  suddenly  became  aware  that 
she  had  thrown  aside  her  veil,  and  a  deep  blush  covered  her 
features  when  she  saw  a  wonderfully  white  hand  reaching  up 
with  a  cluster  of  roses,  evidently  meant  for  her  acceptance. 
The  rustling  of  the  trees,  the  sound  of  water  splashing,  the 
sight  of  birds,  coming  in  flocks  to  drink  at  the  fountain,  had 
so  held  her  senses  captive,  that  she  did  not  even  know  how 
long  they  had  been  stopping  at  this  place ;  but  the  bunch  of 
roses,  and  the  deep  blue  eyes  looking  up  into  hers,  recalled 
her  to  reality.  Had  she  not  looked  into  these  eyes  before? 
Had  not  the  stage-driver  just  such  a  long,  tawny  moustache  ? 
And  was  this  he,  offering  the  flowers  with  all  the  courtliness 
and  easy  self-possession  of  the  gentleman  ?  All  these  thoughts 
flashed  through  her  brain  in  a  second,  and  she  shrank,  momen- 
tarily, from  what  seemed  a  piece  of  presumption  on  the  part 
of  the  man.  But  a  glance  at  the  sad  eyes,  and  the  barely 
perceptible  play  of  sarcasm  around  the  firm-closed  lips,  in- 
duced her  to  bend  forward  and  accept  the  offering,  with  a 
grace  peculiarly  her  own. 

Not  a  word  was  exchanged  after  he  had- remounted  his  seat; 
but  since  her  veil  was  dropped  she  noticed  that  there  were 
others  on  the  outside  of  the  stage  beside  herself.  There  was 
a  female  with  a  brown  barege  veil,  and  a  big  lunch-basket  on 
the  seat  back  of  her,  who  had  been  most  intent  on  studying 
how  the  young  lady  could  possibly  have  fastened  on  those 
heavy  braids,  that  they  looked  so  natural ;  whereas  hers  were 
always  coming  apart,  and  showing  the  jute  inside.  And  there 
were  the  two  tourists  —  English  people  probably.  They  had 
never  disturbed  her  yet  by  a  word  of  conversation.  Then 
her  thoughts  travelled  to  the  inside  of  the  stage,  and  her  eyes 
rested  uneasily  for  a  moment  on  her  neighbor,  the  driver. 
Had  she  only  dreamed  of  the  white,  well-shaped  hand  ? 
Large,  heavy  gloves  were  on  his  fingers,  and  covered  the 
wrist  with  a  stiff  gauntlet.  Just  as  stiff  was  the  brim  of  the 


284  OVERLAND    TALES. 

light-colored  hat;  and  it  was  so  provokingly  put  on  that 
nothing  was  visible  from  under  it  but  the  end  of  the  long 
moustache. 

But  she  was  soon  lost  in  thought  again,  and  in  contempla- 
tion of  the  placid  blue  ocean,  that  suddenly  shone  out  beyond 
the  low  hills,  away  off  to  the  right. 

"  Das  Meer  erglanzte  weit  hinaus — " 

She  turned  with  a  start,  to  see  whether  she  had  dreamed 
this  too,  or  whether  a  voice  at  her  elbow  had  really  hummed 
it  —  and  was  just  in  time  to  see  the  driver  gather  up  the  lines 
of  the  six  horses  closer,  while  he  strove  hard  to  banish  the 
guilty  color  from  his  face. 

A  stage-driver,  who  offered  her  roses  with  the  air  of  a  cava- 
lier of  the  ancien  regime,  and  sang  snatches  of  German  music. 
It  made  her  more  thoughtful  than  ever;  and  when  they 
reached  Spanishtown,  and  had  taken  dinner,  she  had  decided 
on  what  course  to  pursue.  The  driver  was  on  hand  to  assist 
her  back  to  her  lofty  perch,  but  she  said,  with  perfect  sang- 
froid : 

"  I  think  I  should  prefer  to  ride  inside  for  the  rest  of  the 
way;  the  sun  is  too  hot  outside." 

Perhaps  she  had  feared  to  see  an  expression  of  wounded 
feeling  on  the  bronzed  face,  but  it  was  rather  a  quizzical  look 
that  shot  from  his  eyes  as  he  answered : 

"  No  sun  after  this;  fog  from  here  out  —  depend  upon  it." 

Her  face  relaxed.  "  I  don't  know  that  I  want  to  be  envel- 
oped in  a  fog-cloud,  either;  "  but  she  placed  her  foot  on  the 
wheel,  and,  without  another  word,  she  was  assisted  back  to 
her  old  seat.  The  ice  was  broken,  and  the  fog  that  soon 
rolled  in  on  them  did  more  to  thaw  it  away  between  them 
than  the  sunshine  of  the  morning  had  been  able  to  do. 

After  awhile  she  told  him  that  she  was  on  her  way  to  visit 
an  uncle  and  aunt,  who  had  taken  up  their  residence  at  Pes- 
cadero,  and  that  she  meant  to  make  them  many  a  visit,  as 


HER  NAME    WAS  SYLVIA.  28$ 

she  was  fond  of  them,  and  they  petted  her  to  her  heart's  con- 
tent. And  she  liked  the  country,  too.  Then  he  told  her 
of  the  pebbles  to  be  found  on  the  beach  near  Pescadero,  and 
of  the  attractions  of  the  sea-moss,  at  a  point  more  distant ; 
and  he  hoped  that  he  might  always  have  the  pleasure  of 
carrying  her  through  the  country,  whenever  she  came  this  way. 

"  Uncle  shall  surely  let  you  know  when  I  am  coming  back, 
so  that  I  may  come  with  you,"  she  said;  "but  what  is  your 
name?  —  so  that  he  can  find  you  out." 

"Jim !  "  he  replied,  grimly,  pulling  his  hat  far  down  over 
his  eyes,  apparently  indifferent  as  to  the  impression  his  abbre- 
viated appellation  might  make  on  her.  Then,  with  a  touch 
of  sarcasm  in  his  voice,  he  asked,  "And  yours?" 

"Stella,"  she  answered  simply;  and  they  both  laughed, 
and  she  fastened  the  roses  in  her  hair  before  they  came  to  the 
end  of  their  journey,  which  had  on  the  whole  passed  off  so 
pleasantly. 

So  pleasantly  that  Stella  reverted  to  it  when  in  Aunt  Sarah's 
comfortable  sitting-room,  where  Uncle  Herbert  was  allowed 
to  smoke  his  after-dinner  cigar. 

"  I  should  like  to  go  back  with  the  same  driver;  his  name 
is  Jim.  Do  you  know  him,  uncle?  "  she  continued,  with  the 
most  innocent  face,  in  which  a  sharper  eye  than  Uncle  Her- 
bert's would  nevertheless  have  detected  a  somewhat  height- 
ened color. 

"They  have  nicknamed  him  'The  Duke,'"  he  replied, 
knocking  the  ashes  off  his  cigar  with  a  thoughtful  look,  "and 
they  say  he  is  quite  a  character.  Proud  and  unapproachable, 
but  the  best  driver  on  the  road,  and,  so  long  as  no  one  inter- 
feres or  asks  questions  about  himself,  perfectly  obliging,  and 
courteous  in  his  manners." 

After  the  usual  round  of  dissipations,  consisting  of  a  sea- 
bath  for  the  more  venturesome,  a  visit  to  the  pebble-beach,  a 
more  extended  tour  to  gather  sea-moss,  Stella  was  ready  to 


286  OVERLAND    TALES. 

return  to  San  Francisco.  To  both  aunt  and  uncle  she  im- 
parted her  design  of  soon  revisiting  Pescadero,  for  the  purpose 
of  exploring  the  distant  hills,  with  their  dark  forests,  where 
the  redwood  was  said  to  reach  a  circumference  of  sixteen  feet, 
which  the  wise  little  lady  would  not  believe  till  her  own  eyes 
had  proved  it.  The  old  couple  were  without  children,  and 
nothing  could  be  more  welcome  than  the  niece's  prospective 
visits. 

Stella  thought  she  could  see  a  sudden  light  flash  over  the 
gloomy  face  with  the  sunburnt  moustache  when  she  came  out 
of  the  waiting-room  to  mount  the  stage,  for  she  naturally 
wished  to  view  in  the  light  of  the  morning  sun  the  scenery 
on  which  the  evening  shadows  had  lain  when  she  came.  Not 
that  she  saw  much  of  it,  after  all ;  the  fog  prevented  her  from 
seeing  what  her  veil  did  not  shut  out.  But  the  sun  breaking 
through  the  fog  suddenly  and  driving  it  back,  the  sky  became 
clear,  her  companion  said,  "heaven  smiled  once  more;" 
and  while  he  spoke  he  was  careful  to  manipulate  the  veil  she 
had  dropped,  in  such  a  manner  that  it  found  its  way  into  his 
coat-pocket,  from  where,  he  was  determined,  it  was  not  to  be 
unearthed  till  the  steeples  of  San  Mateo  should  come  into 
sight. 

He  listened  with  such  an  air  of  interest  to  Stella's  recital 
of  all  she  had  seen,  that  it  did  not  strike  her  till  after  a  long 
while  that  she  had  really  sustained  conversation  altogether 
on  her  side  ;  and  when  she  grew  quite  still  after  this,  he  made 
no  effort  to  draw  her  on  or  speak  himself.  But  when  they 
approached  the  long,  steep  bridge  across  the  Toanitas,  and 
rolled  along  close  by  the  sea,  where  the  waves  dashed  against 
the  crags  with  angry  roar,  through  which  there  wept  and 
moaned  a  bitter  grief  and  sighed  a  forlorn  hope  of  peace  to 
come,  he  pushed  his  hat  back  with  an  impatient  motion,  and, 
gazing  moodily  into  the  waters,  he  muttered  : 

"Bleib  Du  in  Deinen  Meerestiefen  Wahnsinniger  Traum." 


HER  NAME    WAS  SYLVIA.  28? 

"Do  you  really  read  Heine  in  the  original ?"  she  asked, 
quickly. 

"And  only  a  stage-driver,"  he  returned,  with  the  old  sar- 
casm, seeing  that  she  hesitated.  "Yes;  I  read  Heine  in 
German  —  or  did.  I  read  nothing  now.  I  drive  stage." 

There  was  painful  silence;  an  apology  would  have  made 
matters  worse ;  but  seeing  the  grieved  expression  on  her  face, 
he  continued,  in  his  gentlest  voice,  "You  say  you  are  com- 
ing this  way  again  in  the  course  of  the  season  —  coming  with 
me  —  in  my  stage  ?  You  wonder  how  I  came  to  be  stage- 
driver  ;  when  we  are  better  acquainted,  and  you  think  it  worth 
while  to  remind  me  of  my  promise,  I  will  tell  you  my  story." 

"And  forgive  me  now?"  she  asked,  extending  her  hand. 
The  glove  came  off  his  right  hand,  and  the  fingers  that  clasped 
hers  were  not  less  white  and  soft,  but  strong  they  looked  — 
strong  as  iron.  "Thanks,"  she  said;  and  he  felt,  somehow, 
that  she  wanted  her  veil  just  then,  and  he  pretended  to  dis- 
cover it,  by  chance,  on  the  seat. 

In  the  course  of  the  season  she  came  again  —  more  than 
once  —  coming  always  when  she  knew  she  would  meet  his 
stage  at  the  San  Mateo  depot. 

One  bright  day  in  October,  when,  after  the  drought  of  the 
long  summer,  the  earth  had  been  refreshed  by  generous  autumn 
showers,  Stella  again  sat  beside  him,  high  up,  on  the  driver's 
seat.  The  same  azure  was  in  the  sky,  the  same  deep  blue  on 
the  waters ;  it  was  all  as  it  had  been  the  day  she  first  saw  the 
tangled  wildwood  by  the  brook,  the  spreading  live-oak  by  the 
roadside  —  only,  the  foliage  on  the  brush  had  changed  its 
colors  to  deep-red  and  yellow. 

"You  once  said,"  began  Stella,  timidly  —  for  she  had 
learned  that  his  temper  was  very  uneven  —  "that  if  I  re- 
minded you  of  your  promise  when  we  were  better  acquainted, 
you  would  tell  me  your  story." 

He  turned  and  looked  steadily  into  her  faltering  eyes  a 


288  OVERLAND    TALES. 

moment,  then  drew  his  hat  down  over  his  brows,  and  com- 
menced, without  further  preliminaries : 

"Her  name  was  Sylvia — and  her  eyes  were  as  deep  as  a 
well;  so  deep  that  I  don't  think  I  ever  quite  fathomed  them. 
When  my  mother  died,  she  said  we  were  both  young,  and  we 
must  not  be  married  until  at  least  a  year  had  passed  over  my 
mother's  grave.  I  was  touched  with  the  sympathy  she  dis- 
played on  this  sorrowful  occasion  ;  so  was  my  father.  I  was 
his  only  son,  and  would  undoubtedly  fall  heir  to  his  wealth  — 
great  wealth — after  his  death.  I  had  grown  up  as  rich  men's 
pnly  sons  generally  grow  up ;  had  visited  schools,  colleges, 
universities ;  was  called  good-looking,  a  clever  fellow  gener- 
ally, the  best  driver  of  a  four-in-hand,  the  best  shot  —  in 
short,  a  great  catch  for  any  girl  to  make.  Sylvia  told  me  so 
herself  often.  But,  after  all,  I  was  only  the  son,  you  see,  and 
my  father  might  live  for  twenty  years  longer,  and  if  Sylvia 
married  me,  she  married  only  a  prospect  —  whereas,  if  she 
married  my  father,  she  was  the  wife  of  a  wealthy  man  at  once. 
I  had  not  been  brought  up  to  business  habits,  as  Sylvia  pointed 
out,  and  if  my  father  ever  became  displeased  with  me  —  of 
which  he  showed  strong  symptoms  about  this  time — I  should 
be  thrown  on  the  world  with  a  wife  as  helpless  as  myself,  and 
as  poor.  For  Sylvia,  though  brought  up  among  aristocratic 
relatives,  was  as  poor  as  a  church  mouse.  What  need  to  make 
many  words  ?  She  married  my  father  before  the  year  was  out, 
and  I  left  home  secretly  on  the  morning  of  their  wedding- 
day,  with  never  a  cent  of  the  riches  which  had  bought  my 
best-beloved  to  be  my  father's  bride  —  never  a  dollar  of  all 
the  wealth  I  had  been  taught  to  look  upon  as  my  own. 

"  For  years  I  read  in  every  Eastern  paper  that  happened 
to  fall  into  my  hands  the  promises  of  reward  to  any  who  might 
bring  tidings  of  me  —  dead  or  alive  —  to  my  father  ;  but  I 
never  could  tell :  Was  it  his  own  heart  that  urged  him  to  this 
long  continued  search,  or  was  it  she  that  felt  some  slight  com- 


HER  NAME    WAS  SYLVIA.  289 

punction  at  having  driven  the  son  from  the  father's  house? 
There  are  officious  people  everywhere  —  greedy  people  —  who 
will  do  anything  for  money.  One  of  these  soul-sellers,  worm- 
ing himself  into  my  confidence  when  sick  and  broken  from 
unaccustomed  labor,  strung  together  what  might  have  passed 
with  others  for  the  ravings  of  a  delirious  patient,  and  wrote 
my  father  of  my  whereabouts  and  occupation.  Before  I  had 
recovered,  my  father  was  with  me,  urging  me  with  much  kind- 
ness, I  must  say,  to  go  with  him,  if  not  to  his  home,  at  least 
to  the  city,  where  he  proposed  to  set  me  up  in  business  for 
myself,  in  case  I  was  too  independent  to  live  under  his  roof. 

"  His  wife's  health,  delicate  since  her  marriage,  had  been 
so  much  benefited  by  the  climate  of  California  that  she  ad- 
vocated their  remaining  here,  and  he  intended  to  settle  in  San 
Francisco.  I  thanked  him  for  all  his  kindness  —  I  did,  in- 
deed ;  he  is  a  weak  old  man,  but  he  had  been  an  over-in- 
dulgent father  to  me  in  my  boyhood,  and  why  should  I  harbor 
an  unkind  feeling  against  him?  But  I  would  not  go  with 
him.  He  said  I  was  taking  a  cruel  revenge  on  him.  That  is 
not  so,  however  —  or  do  you  too  blame  me  for  being  a  stage- 
driver?"  He  bent  down  toward  her  quickly  and  raised  her 
face  with  his  hand.  There  were  tears  in  her  eyes,  and  his 
arm  stole  around  her  as  gently  as  though  he  had  forgotten 
about  the  six  horses  he  was  guiding  with  his  other  hand. 

Don't  be  shocked,  reader ;  there  was  no  one  on  the  outside 
of  the  stage  but  these  two.  And  supposing  even  that  he  had 
pressed  her  head  to  his  breast  and  kissed  her  forehead ;  no 
one  saw  it,  or  made  remarks  about  it,  except  the  sea  waves, 
and  they  seemed  rippling  all  over  with  good  nature  and 
laughter,  and  rejoicings  at  the  new  light  in  the  man's  eyes, 
and  the  tears  and  the  smiles  in  the  woman's. 

For  a  long  while  neither  spoke  ;  but  when  the  stage  halted 
he  lifted  her  down  so  tenderly,  and  she  looked  up  into  his 
face  so  confidingly,  that  words  seemed  unnecessary  between 
25  T 


290  OVERLAND    TALES. 

them.  Then  he  went  his  way,  and  Stella  knew  that  she  must 
not  expect  to  see  him  again  till  she  should  be  ready  to  return 
to  the  city ;  for  neither  Uncle  Herbert  nor  any  one  else  in 
the  place  had  ever  succeeded  in  enticing  him  to  visit  their 
homes. 

But  when  he  assisted  Stella  into  her  usual  place  on  the 
morning  of  her  departure  for  San  Francisco,  his  eyes  told  her 
that  his  thoughts  had  been  with  her  all  the  days  since  relating 
to  her  "his  story."  He  had  not  encouraged  any  one  else  to 
ride  on  the  outside ;  and  once  clear  of  the  town,  he  touched 
Stella's  hand  with  his  lips,  drew  it  through  his  arm  and 
pressed  it,  very  much,  I  am  afraid,  as  any  ordinary  lover 
might  have  done.  But  when  the  fog  rolled  away,  he  sent  out 
his  clear  baritone  to  greet  the  sun-kissed  ocean,  and  the  bur- 
den of  his  song  was  once  more: 

"  Das  Meer  erglanzte  weit  hinaus  !  " 

And  the  hat  was  not  drawn  down  over  his  face  when  she 
turned  to  him,  and  his  eyes  were  like  the  ocean,  dark-blue, 
and  a  sunny  light  laughing  in  them. 

"It  is  my  farewell  to  the  sea,"  he  said,  gayly.  "I  am 
never  coming  back  again.  I  am  going  to  San  Francisco,  turn 
'gentleman,'  put  on  'store  clothes,1  and  enter  the  ranks  of 
respectable  business  men." 

She  laughed  as  he  straightened  himself  and  put  on  a  se- 
verely sober  face,  and  he  relaxed  and  urged  his  horses  on  with 
a  smart  cut  of  the  whip,  as  though  he  could  not  enter  the  state 
of  a  "respectable  business  man"  soon  enough.  When  they 
came  to  Crystal  Springs  he  brought  a  bunch  of  red  roses  once 
more,  and  held  them  up  to  her  with  a  roguish  smile  on  his  no 
longer  gloomy  face.  She  took  them  with  a  little  blush  at  the 
remembrance  of  his  first  attempt  at  gallantry ;  and  when  he 
sat  beside  her  again,  he  fastened  them  with  his  own  hands  in 
her  shining  braids.  They  were  as  merry  as  children  out  for 
a  holiday;  and  only  when  they  drove  up  to  the  depot  at  San 


HER  NAME    WAS  SYLVIA.  29! 

Mateo  did  the  old  gloom  come  back  into  his  face  as  he  lifted 
her  from  her  elevated  position. 

"After  three  days,  if  in  the  land  of  the  living,  I  will  come 
to  claim  you  for  my  bride  " — what  more  he  said  was  lost  in 
the  din  and  racket  of  the  approaching  train. 

She  saw  nothing  of  him  after  she  had  watched  the  supple 
figure  at  the  last  moment  springing  lightly  on  the  platform  of 
the  last  car.  But  she  knew  he  was  near  and  was  happy. 

Early  the  next  forenoon,  in  the  counting-room  of  a  mer- 
cantile firm  on  Front  street,  sat  one  of  the  principals,  enjoy- 
ing his  Havana,  when  the  door  was  darkened  by  the  shadow 
of  a  tall  figure  standing  in  it. 

"Jim — old  fellow!"  he  cried,  seizing  the  newcomer  by 
both  hands.  "  Welcome  —  thrice  welcome  !  Have  you  come 
to  stay,  vagabond  and  rover  ?  Say  at  once  —  I  read  some- 
thing in  your  face  that  tells  me  you  are  unbending  at  last. 
Are  you  in  love,  my  dear  boy? — or  what  hath  wrought 
this  change?" 

"  How  you  do  run  on,  Luke.  You  have  not  changed,  at 
least.  Yes,  I  am  the  prodigal  son,  returning  to  his  father  to 
be  —  set  up  in  business.  And  —  no  —  I'm  not  in  love;  I 
have  simply  learned  to  worship  the  dearest,  noblest  girl,  and 
will  make  her  mine  —  or  die,"  he  added,  in  a  lower  tone. 

"Why  not  accept  my  offer,  Jim?  The  desk  at  my  elbow 
is  always  kept  vacant  for  you.  Your  father,  poor  man,  is  not 
the  only  friend  you  have,  remember."  He  laid  his  hand  im- 
pressively on  his  friend's  arm,  and  looked  with  frank  affec- 
tion into  his  face. 

Their  interview  was  a  lengthy  one :  friend  Luke  seemed 
averse  to  parting  with  his  old  chum,  and  the  son  seemed  in 
no  great  haste  to  greet  his  father.  But  as  we  need  not  intrude 
on  their  first  meeting,  we  can  rejoin  father  and  son  as  they 
ascend  the  broad  stairs  in  front  of  the  family  residence, 
whither  the  father  has  taken  his  son  in  the  first  flush  of  happi- 
ness. 


292  OVERLAND    TALES. 

"You  will  love  little  Willie,  I  know;  he  is  a  brave  boy, 
with  long  flaxen  ringlets  just  like  my  —  like  his  mother." 
For  the  first  time  something  like  hesitation  came  into  his 
speech,  and  even  the  son's  heart  beat  faster  for  an  instant  as 
the  door  swung  open  in  answer  to  the  old  man's  ring.  He 
preceded  him  through  the  corridor,  threw  open  a  door  and 
called  out,  "  Jim  has  come  home,  my  dear ;  we  are  going 
into  the  library,  and  will  be  ready  for  lunch  after  awhile." 

She  had  known  of  their  coming  just  a  moment  before  they 
entered ;  he  felt  it,  for  she  had  snatched  up  the  boy,  and 
half  hid  her  face  in  his  dress.  Very  faded  she  looked ;  her 
cheeks,  softly  rounded  once,  were  thin,  and  the  pink  and 
white  of  her  complexion  had  grown  sallow.  The  "  long  fair 
ringlets,"  too,  were  but  limp,  stringy  curls,  that  hung  without 
grace  or  fulness  down  her  back.  The  eyes,  pale  blue,  though 
radiant  once  with  health  and  happiness,  were  weak  and  ex- 
pressionless—  save  that  a  dumb  terror  was  written  in  them 
now. 

A  smile,  half  contemptuous,  half  pitying,  flitted  over  the 
young  man's  face  as  he  passed  through  the  foom,  with  only  a 
silent  bow  to  the  woman. 

When  they  had  vanished  she  stood  like  a  statue,  till  the 
prattling  of  the  boy  on  her  arm  recalled  her  to  herself. 

"  He  spoke  not  one  word  to  me,"  she  said,  as  she  put  the 
boy  down,  "not  one  word.  Oh,  to  hear  the  tone  of  his 
voice  once  more  —  only  once  more. ' '  The  door  was  open 
through  which  they  had  passed,  and  her  burning  eyes  seemed 
to  pursue  the  form  last  vanished  through  it.  She  silently 
rose,  like  one  in  a  dream,  and  walked  slowly,  slowly  along 
the  corridor  that  led  to  the  library. 

Little  Willie  pulled  over  mamma's  willow  work-stand  first, 
and  then  found  harmless  amusement  in  winding  a  spool  of 
crimson  embroidering-silk  around  and  around  the  legs  of  a 
convenient  table. 


HER  NAME    WAS  SYLVIA.  293 

What  was  it  that  turned  his  little  beating  heart  and  his 
puny  white  face  to  stone  all  at  once?  Was  this  really  a 
Medusa  on  which  he  looked?  The  long  ringlets  seemed  ser- 
pents, indeed ;  every  one  of  them  instinct  with  the  wild  de- 
spair the  bitter  hatred  pictured  on  the  face  that  looked  so 
meek  and  inoffensive  but  a  while  ago.  "  His  bride  !  "  —  the 
serpents  hissed  it  into  her  ears — "His  bride!  Never  — 
never.  She  shall  die — and  he?  I  will  murder  him  with 
these  hands,  first.  His  bride  —  and  I  am  to  be  a  friend  to 
her  —  ha!  ha!  ha!  The  dotard."  Every  one  of  the  ser- 
pents echoed  the  mad  laugh,  as  the  woman  threw  back  her 
head  and  clinched  her  hands  in  wild  defiance.  The  child 
broke  out  into  shrill  complaining  cries,  and  she  sprang  toward 
him,  seized  him  and  shook  him  by  the  shoulders  till  his 
breath  failed.  But  in  the  midst  of  her  mad  fury  the  door 
opened,  after  a  soft  knock,  and  a  female  servant  entered  the 
room. 

"Is  Master  Willie  troublesome?"  she  asked.  "Dear 
heart;  let  me  take  him,  mum." 

"Leave  the  room  instantly,  nurse;  Master  Willie  is  naughty 
and  will  remain  with  me." 

Two  little  arms  were  stretched  out  imploringly;  but  nurse 
had  to  withdraw — with  her  own  opinion  of  Master  Willie's 
naughtiness,  and  "Missus'  temper." 

But  the  furies  were  banished,  and  when  father  and  son 
entered  the  room  some  time  after  to  say  that  they  would  take 
lunch  down  town,  "Sylvia,"  as  the  old  man  addressed  her, 
came  forward  quietly,  leading  the  child  by  the  hand,  and 
spoke  words  of  welcome  to  him,  in  his  little  brother's  name. 
And  she  gave  him  her  hand  as  she  said  "good-by,"  to  the 
old  man's  unspeakable  joy. 

Poor  old  man  !  He  fondly  dreamed  the  gods  were  propiti- 
ated, the  furies  appeased ;  that  the  son  whom  he  really  loved 
had  been  restored  to  his  rightful  place,  and  would  be  guardian 
25* 


294 


TA  LES. 


at  some  future  day  to  the  child  of  his  old  age  —  the  son  his 
idolized  young  wife  had  given  him. 

Yet  he  had  not  strength  to  battle  against  the  storm  that 
the  idolized  young  wife  called  up  —  the  storm  that  was  to 
sweep  from  him  again  the  long-lost,  bitterly  mourned  son. 
Ah  !  well  ;  it  is  not  hard  to  fancy  how  she  strained  every 
nerve  to  wrest  from  another  the  happiness  once  within  her 
own  reach.  Had  she  not  bartered  away  her  peace  when  she 
ruthlessly  deserted  the  man  she  loved?  And  should  some 
other  woman  be  happier  than  she?  No!  Let  them  all  be 
wrecked  together.  What  cared  she  ?  Her  husband  ;  bah  ! 
Her  child,  yes  ;  she  strained  him  to  her  breast,  and  bemoaned 
him,  and  caressed  him,  and  said  that  he  was  to  be  robbed  by 
that  wicked,  wicked  man,  who  had  come  to  disturb  their 
quiet  happiness.  That  his  unnatural  father  was  about  to 
squander  on  his  undutiful  older  son,  who  had  deserted  him 
and  disgraced  him  for  years,  the  fortune  she  had  been  so 
sparing  of  —  knowing  that  she  would  be  left  alone  in  the 
world  some  day,  with  no  one  to  provide  for  herself  and  her 
child.  And  she  would  take  her  child  now  —  a  fresh  burst  of 
hysterical  grief  —  right  now,  and  start  out  into  the  cold  world 
to  earn  her  daily  bread,  or  beg,  for  her  child  —  for  it  would 
come  to  that,  now  that  this  cruel,  hard-hearted  man  had 
undertaken  to  provide  for  his  profligate,  vagaband  son. 

And  the  child,  little  knowing  how  useful  a  tool  he  was  in 
his  mother's  hands,  wept  with  her,  and  would  not  be  com- 
forted by  the  distracted  father,  but  clung  to  his  mother's 
neck,  crying,  when  she  made  a  feint  of  leaving  the  house  at 
the  dead  of  night.  Then  the  old  man  in  his  anguish  prom- 
ised to  abandon  his  "  vagabond  "  son,  and  was  but  too  happy 
to  have  peace  restored  to  his  troubled  home  at  this  price. 
After  all,  the  boy  had  lived  away  from  him  so  many  years; 
had  never  troubled  himself  about  him  ;  then  why  should  his 
father  heap  all  this  trouble  on  his  own  head  for  what  might 
be  only  a  passing  whim  of  the  boy's? 


HER  NAME    WAS  SYLVIA.  2$$ 

The  third  day  had  dawned  since  the  long-lost  son's  return. 
Friend  Luke  again  sat  in  his  counting-room,  in  company  with 
his  early  Havana,  his  meditations  were  disturbed  by  a  boy, 
who  was  shown  in  by  one  of  the  clerks.  "  A  note  for  you, 
sir,"  and  he  had  vanished. 

But  the  young  merchant  seized  his  hat  when  he  had  glanced 
at  the  contents,  and  repaired,  breathlessly,  to  his  friend's 
hotel.  Cold  sweat  stood  on  his  forehead  when  he  knocked 
at  the  door,  and  it  was  opened  by  a  stranger.  One  glance  at 
the  bed  and  at  those  standing  around  it  was  sufficient. 

"I  was  his  friend,"  he  said,  and  they  respectfully  made 
room  for  him. 

He  touched  the  cold  hand,  and  gently  lifted  the  cloth  that 
hid  the  rigid  face.  His  friend  had  always  been  a  good  shot, 
and  Luke  groaned  as  he  replaced  the  cloth. 

"  Poor  girl,  poor  girl  — and  I  am  to  break  the  news  to  her !  " 

The  doctor  who  had  been  called  in,  a  shock-headed,  spec- 
tacled German,  looked  at  him,  first  from  under  his  glasses, 
then  over  them,  and  at  last  through  them.  "Aha!  "  he  said, 
with  evident  satisfaction,  catching  at  Luke's  words,  "now  we 
have  it.  It  vas  a  voman  who  made  dis  misfortune,  after  all." 

"  A  woman  ' '  — Luke  repeated,  softly ;  "  yes,  but  her  name 
was  Sylvia." 


CROSSING  THE  ARIZONA  DESERTS. 

HEAD-QUARTERS  DEPARTMENT  OF  CALIFORNIA,! 
SAN  FRANCISCO,  CAL.,  March  u,  1868.     J 

MY  DEAR  MADAM :  —  The  next  steamer  for  Wilming- 
ton is  advertised  to  sail  on  the  i4th,  but  as  she  is  not 
yet  in,  her  departure  may  be  delayed  a  day  or  two. 
I  enclose  letters  to  the  commanding  officers  of  Drum  Bar- 
racks and  Fort  Yuma,  and  am, 
My  dear  Madam, 

Truly  yours,  E.  N.  PLATT. 

It  was  my  intention  to  visit  quite  a  remote  part  of  Arizona; 
and,  although  an  officer's  wife,  having  no  personal  acquaint- 
ance with  any  of  the  officers  stationed  in  the  Territory,  the 
letters  the  colonel  gave  me  to  the  commanding  officers  of 
both  these  posts,  through  which  I  should  have  to  pass,  were 
very  acceptable.  As  I  was  quite  alone,  the  commanding 
officer  of  Drum  Barracks  was  particular  to  give  me  reliable 
people  for  my  long  journey.  Phil,  the  driver,  was  a  model, 
and  in  many  respects  a  genius,  while  the  two  soldiers  —  who 
had  been  in.  the  hospital  when  their  comrades  had  started  for 
Arizona,  two  months  before,  and  who  were  sent  by  the  post 
commander  to  protect  "Government  property"  (the  ambu- 
lance) —  were  attentive  and  good-natured,  as  soldiers  always 
are. 

With  so  small  an  escort,  it  was  possible  —  nay,  expedient 
—  to  make  the  journey  very  rapidly.  We  were  unincumbered 
by  tents  or  baggage  —  my  only  trunk  and  what  provisions  we 
carried  were  all  in  the  ambulance,  which  was  drawn  by  four 
large  mules.  I  had  decided,  being  alone,  to  stop  at  the  for- 


CROSSING    THE  ARIZONA   DESERTS.      2Q/ 

age-stations,  whenever  we  could  reach  them,  expecting  to  take 
my  meals  there  and  to  find  quarters  for  the  night.  Luckily, 
the  quartermaster  and  Phil  had  made  arrangement  and  pro- 
vision to  have  my  meals  cooked  by  one  of  the  soldiers,  in 
case  the  "station-fare"  should  not  agree  with  me;  and  my 
ambulance  was  of  such  ample  dimensions  that  it  was  easily 
turned  into  a  sleeping  apartment  for  the  night :  so  that  Phil, 
who  had  all  the  merits  and  demerits  of  such  places  by  heart, 
had  only  to  give  an  additional  nod  of  the  head  to  induce  me 
to  say  to  the  station-keeper,  who  would  always  invite  me  to 
enter  his  "house"  when  Phil  drove  up  to  the  corral,  "No, 
thank  you:  I  can  rest  very  well  in  the  ambulance."  Then 
there  were  days'  marches  to  be  made  when  no  station  could 
be  reached,  so  that  we  were  compelled  to  camp  out ;  and  on 
such  occasions  Phil  would  appear  in  the  full  glory  of  his  well- 
earned  reputation.  He  boasted  that  he  had  brought  fully 
one-half  the  number  of  officers'  wives  who  ever  visited  Ari- 
zona to  the  Territory  himself,  and  that  he  liad  always  made 
them  comfortable.  Knowing,  of  course,  before,  whenever  we 
should  camp  out,  he  would  go  to  work  systematically.  His 
carbine  was  always  by  his  side,  and  early  in  the  morning  he 
would  commence  his  raid  on  the  game  and  birds  abounding, 
more  or  less,  throughout  the  Territory.  Slaying  sometimes 
five  or  six  of  the  beautifully  crested  quails  at  one  shot  without 
moving  from  his  seat,  he  would  send  one  of  the  soldiers  to 
gather  up  the  spoils,  and  then  set  the  men,  placed  one  on  each 
side  of  him,  to  pick  the  birds.  That  this  was  thoroughly 
done  he  was  very  sure  of,  for  he  watched  the  operation  with 
a  stern  eye.  Not  the  smallest  splinter  of  wood,  or  anything 
combustible,  was  left  ungleaned  on  the  field  over  which  he 
passed  on  such  a  day;  fifty,  ay,  a  hundred  times,  he  would 
turn  to  his  right-hand  man,  or  to  his  left,  with  the  admonition  : 
"Miller,  we've  six  birds  to  cook,  and  bread  to  bake,  to- 
night: pick  up  that  stick." 


298  OVERLAND    TALES. 

Down  would  jump  Miller,  trusting  to  his  agility,  and  the 
gymnastics  he  might  have  practised  in  younger  days,  for  safety 
in  vaulting  over  the  wheels ;  for  never  a  moment  would  Phil 
allow  the  ambulance  to  halt  while  this  wayside  gathering  was 
going  on. 

I  always  preferred  camping  out  to  "bed  and  board"  at  the 
roadside  hotels  of  Arizona,  for  Phil,  with  all  his  sagacity, 
would  sometimes  go  astray  in  regard  to  the  eligibility  and 
comfort  of  the  quarters  furnished.  As,  for  instance,  at  An- 
telope Peak,  where  my  mentor  assured  me  I  should  find  a 
bedstead  to  place  my  bedding  on,  and  a  room  all  to  myself. 
I  did  find  a  bedstead ;  but  after  the  family  (consisting  of  an 
American  husband,  a  Spanish  wife,  sister-in-law,  brother-in- 
law,  and  three  children)  had  removed  their  bed-clothes  from 
it,  to  make  place  for  mine,  it  looked  so  uninviting  that  I  re- 
quested Phil  to  spread  my  bed  on  the  floor.  I  had  a  room 
all  to  myself,  190 ;  but,  on  retiring  to  rest,  I  found  that  the 
whole  family  —  again  consisting  of  husband,  wife,  sister-in- 
law,  brother-in-law,  and  three  children  —  had  spread  their 
bed  on  the  floor  of  the  adjoining  room,  which,  being  sepa- 
rated from  my  apartment  only  by  an  old  blanket,  coming  short 
of  the  ground  over  a  foot,  and  hung  up  where  the  door  ought 
to  be,  enabled,  or  rather  compelled  me  to  look  straight  into 
the  faces  of  the  different  members  of  this  interesting  family. 
As  it  grew  darker,  and  the  danger  of  being  stared  out  of 
countenance  passed  over,  another  serious  disturbance  pre- 
sented itself  to  my  senses.  All  my  friends  can  bear  witness 
to  the  fact  that  I  consider  Mr.  Charles  Bergh  the  greatest 
public  benefactor  of  the  present  age  (the  woman  who  founded 
the  hospital  for  aged  and  infirm  cats  not  excepted),  and  that, 
with  me,  it  calls  forth  all  the  combative  qualities  lately  dis- 
covered to  lie  dormant  in  woman's  nature,  to  see  any  harm- 
less, helpless  animal  cruelly  treated;  but  if  I  could  have 
caught  only  half  a  dozen  of  the  five  hundred  mice  that  nib- 


CROSSING    THE  ARIZONA   DESERTS.      299 

bled  at  my  nose,  my  ears,  and  my  feet  that  night,  I  should 
exultingly  have  dipped  them  in  camphene,  applied  a  match, 
and  sent  them,  as  warning  examples,  back  to  their  tribe. 

Only  once  after  this,  toward  the  close  of  the  journey,  did 
Phil  entice  me  to  sleep  under  a  roof.  It  was  at  Blue-water 
Station ;  and  the  man  who  kept  it  turned  himself  out  into  the 
corral,  and  made  my  bed  on  the  floor  of  the  only  room  the 
house  contained.  There  was  no  bedstead  there,  but  the  man 
gave  his  word  that  neither  were  there  any  mice ;  so  I  went  to 
sleep  in  perfect  faith  and  security.  When  I  woke  up  at  mid- 
night, I  thought  the  Indians  must  have  surprised  us,  scalped 
me,  and  left  me  for  dead.  Such  a  burning,  gnawing  sensa- 
tion I  experienced  on  the  top  of  my  head  that  almost  uncon- 
sciously I  put  up  my  hand  to  see  if  they  had  taken  all  my  hair. 
But  I  brought  it  down  rapidly,  for  all  the  horrid,  pinching, 
stinging  bugs  and  ants  that  had  ensconced  themselves  in  my 
hair,  during  my  sleep,  suddenly  fastened  to  the  intruding 
fingers,  and  clung  to  them  with  a  tenacity  worthy  of  a  better 
cause. 

But  these  experiences  were  not  made  until  I  had  crossed 
the  greater  part  of  the  Arizona  deserts;  and  I  considered  them 
rather  as  pleasantly  varying  the  solemn,  still  monotony  of  the 
days  passed,  one  after  one.  in  a  solitude  broken  only,  at  long 
intervals,  by  those  forlorn  government  forage-stations. 

The  first  desert  we  crossed  was  still  in  California  —  though 
why  California  should  feel  any  desire  to  claim  the  wilderness 
of  sand  and  rattlesnakes  lying  between  Vallecito  Mountain 
and  Fort  Yuma,  I  cannot  see.  We  had  passed  over  the 
thriving  country  around  San  Bernardino,  and  through  the 
verdant  valley  of  San  Felipe;  and  striking  the  desert  just 
beyond 'Vallecito,  it  seemed  like  entering  Arizona  at  once. 

Could  anything  be  more  hopelessly  endless  —  more  dis- 
couragingly  boundless  —  than  the  sand-waste  that  lay  before 
us  the  morning  we  left  the  forage-station  of  Vallecito  !  For 


3<X>  OVERLAND    TALES. 

days  before,  Phil  had  been  entertaining  me  with  stories  and 
accounts  of  travellers  who  had  been  lost  in  sand-storms  on  the 
deserts.  Not  a  breath  of  air  stirred  —  not  a  cloud  was  to  be 
seen  in  the  sky  on  this  particular  morning ;  nevertheless,  I 
watched  for  the  signs  that  precede  the  springing  up  of  the 
wind  with  a  keen  eye,  as  the  ambulance  rolled  slowly  and 
noiselessly  through  the  deep  sand,  and  I  listened  attentively 
to  Phil's  stories.  The  road  we  followed  was  but  a  wagon- 
track,  at  best ;  and  I  could  well  believe  that,  in  ten  minutes 
from  the  time  a  storm  sprang  up,  there  would  be  no  trace  of 
the  road  left.  Then  commence  the  blind  wanderings,  the 
frenzied  attempts  to  regain  the  friendly  shelter  of  the  station, 
on  the  part  of  the  inexperienced  traveller  —  ending,  but  too 
often,  in  a  miserable  death  by  famine  and  starvation.  The 
sand,  flying  in  clouds,  conceals  the  distant  mountains,  by 
which  alone  he  could  be  piloted ;  and,  straying  off,  he  finds 
himself  bewildered  among  piles  of  sand  and  tattered  sage- 
brush, when  the  storm  has  blown  over.  The  remains  of 
human  beings  found  by  parties  going  into  the  mountains  have 
proved  that  such  poor  wretches  must  have  wandered  for1  days 
without  food,  without  water,  till  they  found  their  death,  at 
last,  on  the  wide,  inhospitable  plain.  Their  death — but  not 
their  grave ;  for  the  coyote,  with  his  jackal  instinct,  surely  finds 
the  body  of  the  lost  one,  under  the  sand-mound  mercifully 
covering  it,  and,  feasting  on  the  flesh,  he  leaves  the  bones 
white  and  bleaching  in  the  pitiless  rays  of  the  sun. 

"  Phil,"  said  I,  interrupting  him,  "  you  told  me  the  mules 
would  not  get  a  drop  of  water  to:day :  what  is  that  lake  before 
us,  then  ?  ' ' 

He  looked  up  to  where  I  pointed. 

"It  is  mirage,  madame.  You  cannot  be  deceived  by  it;  I 
am  sure  you  must  have  seen  it  on  the  plains,  before  this." 

"Yes,"  I  said,  stoutly,  "I  have  seen  mirage ;  but  this  is 
water  —  not  mirage. ' ' 


CROSSING    THE  ARIZONA   DESERTS.      30 1 

"We  shall  see,"  said  Phil,  equally  determined  to  hold  his 
ground. 

But  I  was  sure  it  could  not  be  mirage  —  it  must  be  water — 
for  did  I  not  see  each  of  the  few  scattering  bushes  of  verde 
and  sage  that  grew  on  the  border,  and  farther  out,  all  through 
the  water,  reflected  in  the  clear,  slightly  undulating  flood  ? 
The  bushes  seemed  larger  here  than  any  of  the  stinted  vege- 
tation I  had  yet  seen  on  the  desert,  and  every  bush  was 
clearly  .reflected  in  the  water ;  but  it  was  strange  that  as  we 
approached  the  water  receded ;  and  if  I  noted  any  particular 
bunch  of  sage  or  weeds,  I  found  that,  as  we  neared,  it  grew 
smaller,  and  I  could  no  longer  see  its  image  in  the  water. 

Phil  was  right  —  it  was  the  mirage;  and  this  Fata  Mor- 
gana of  the  plains  and  deserts  of  our  own  country  became  a 
most  curious  and  interesting  study  to  me.  I  could  write  a 
volume  on  the  "dissolving  views"  I  have  seen.  Leaving 
camp  one  morning,  I  saw,  on  turning,  that  a  narrow  strip  of 
short,  coarse  grass  had  been  suddenly  transformed  into  a  tall, 
magnificent  hedge ;  and  a  single,  meagre  stem  of  verde  would 
as  suddenly  grow  into  a  large,  spreading  tree.  Out  of  the 
clouds,  on  the  horizon,  would  sometimes  loom  up,  majesti- 
cally, a  tall  spire,  a  heavy  dome,  or  a  vessel  under  full  sail ; 
and  changing  into  one  fantastic  shape  after  another,  the  pic- 
ture would  slowly  fade  into  vapor  at  last.  Whole  cities  have 
sprung  up  before  my  eyes :  I  could  have  pointed  out  which 
one  of  the  different  cupolas  I  supposed  to  be  the  City  Hall, 
and  which  steeple,  according  to  my  estimation,  belonged  to 
the  First  Presbyterian  Church ;  and  could  have  shown  the 
exact  locality  of  the  harbor,  from  the  number  of  masts  I  saw 
across  the  roofs  of  the  houses  yonder.  Even  Phil  was  de- 
ceived one  morning.  I  asked  him  why  he  stopped  the  ambu- 
lance, and  allowed  the  mules  to  rest  at  so  unusual  an  hour  in 
the  day?  He  pointed  to  a  mountain  I  had  not  noticed  before, 
26 


3O2  OVERLAND    TALES. 

which  stood  almost  in  front  of  us,  and  was  steep  and  bare,  of 
a  light  clay-color. 

"  There  ain't  a  man  driving  government  mules  knows  this 
road  better 'n  I  do;  but  I'll  be  derned  if  ever  I  saw  that 
mountain  before." 

He  asked  the  men  if  they  thought  it  could  be  mirage,  but 
they  hooted  at  the  idea — it  was  too  substantial  for  that, 
altogether;  it  was  a  mountain  —  nothing  else.  But  while  we 
were,  all  four,  so  intently  gazing  at  it,  the  scene  was  shifted ; 
the  mountain  parted,  leaving  two  steep  banks  —  the  space 
between  apparently  spanned  by  a  light  bridge. 

For  days  we  continued  our  journey  through  the  desert, 
making  camp  generally  near  one  of  the  numerous  wells  indis- 
criminately scattered  between  Vallecito  and  Fort  Yuma. 
There  are  Indian  Wells,  Sacket's  Wells,  Seven  Wells,  Cook's 
Wells,  which,  on  close  inspection,  prove  to  belong  to  the 
dissolving  views,  of  which  Arizona  possesses  such  a  variety ; 
an  old  well-curb  or  muddy  water-hole  generally  constituting 
all  the  claim  these  places  have  to  the  distinction  of  being 
called  wells.  But  no  ;  at  Cook's  Wells,  we  did  find  a  good, 
clear  well  of  water;  nor  is  this  the  only  object  of  interest  con- 
nected in  my  mind  with  the  place.  The  station-keeper  told 
me  that  a  tribe  of  friendly  Indians,  not  far  from  here,  the 
Deguines,  were  to  celebrate  the  funeral  rites  of  a  departed 
warrior  the  following  day.  The  spirit  of  the  "brave"  was 
to  find  its  way  up  to  the  Happy  Hunting  Grounds  from  the 
funeral-pyre  on  which  the  body  was  to  pass  through  the  pro- 
cess of  incremation — this  being  their  mode  of  disposing  of 
the  remains  of  deceased  friends.  A  novel  spectacle  it  would 
be,  no  doubt ;  but  I  decided  not  to  witness  it.  I  could 
already  see  Castle  Dome  looming  in  the  distance,  and  I  knew 
that  I  should  be  able  to  reach  Fort  Yuma  in  the  course  of  the 
following  day.  So  we  left  Cook's  Wells  early  in  the  morn- 
ing, and  reached  the  crossing  of  the  Colorado  some  time  in 
the  forenoon. 


CROSSING    THE  ARIZONA   DESERTS.      303 

The  Colorado  river  was  "up,"  Phil  said;  and  I  was  pre- 
pared to  agree  with  him  when  I  saw  an  expanse  of  muddy 
water  covering  the  flat,  on  the  other  side,  to  a  considerable 
distance.  The  old  scow,  or  flat-boat,  manned  by  two  dirty- 
looking  Mexicans,  had  no  difficulty  in  coming  up  close  to  us, 
where  we  were  waiting  on  the  shore  :  the  difficulty  lay  in  our 
getting  on  the  crazy  thing  without  breaking  through  the  rotten 
planks.  Perhaps  the  two  Mexicans  looked  so  dirty  because 
all  their  "clean  clothes"  were  hanging  out  to  dry,  on  two 
lines  of  cowhide,  stretched  on  either  side  of  the  flat-boat, 
which  the  wind  kept  blowing  into  the  mules'  faces,  causing 
them  to  "back  out"  twice,  after  our  entree  to  the  ferry  had 
been  almost  effected.  There  was  no  railing  around  the  boat 
(the  four  posts  from  which  the  clothes-line  was  stretched 
having  evidently  been  erected  at  the  four  corners  for  that 
purpose),  and,  as  it  was  only  just  large  enough  to  afford 
standing  room  for  the  ambulance  and  the  men,  it  was  any- 
thing but  soothing  to  a  woman's  nerves  to  see  the  mules  rear 
and  plunge  every  time  the  wind  flapped  one  of  the  articles 
on  the  line  into  the  animals'  faces.  I  had  remained  in  the 
ambulance,  and  in  my  usual  corner,  but  as  the  shore  receded, 
and  an  ocean  seemed  to  stretch  out  on  every  side  of  me,  I 
found  it  hard  to  stay  there.  I  had  suggested  to  Phil,  in  the 
first  place,  to  cut  down  those  miserable  clothes-lines,  if  the 
Mexicans  refused  to  gather  in  their  week's  washing,  but  he 
had  quieted  me  by  saying  that  our  men  would  hold  the  mules. 
However,  when  the  current  grew  swifter,  and  the  Mexicans 
found  some  difficulty  in  managing  their  craft,  the  men  were 
directed  to  take  the  long  poles,  of  which  there  was  an  abun- 
dant supply,  and  help  to  steer  clear  of  the  logs  floating  down 
the  river. 

Now  came  the  difficulty;  for  the  refractory  mules  would 
not  listen  to  the  "Ho,  there,  Kate;  be  still — will  you?" 
with  which  Phil  admonished  the  nigh  leader,  but  persisted  in 


304  0  VE RLA  ND    TA  L  E S. 

rearing  every  time  a  piece  of  "linen"  struck  them,  till  the 
old  scow  shook  with  their  furious  stamping,  and  I  grew 
desperate  in  my  lone  corner.  "Phil,"  I  cried  at  last,  with 
the  energy  of  despair,  brandishing  an  enormous  knife  I  had 
drawn  from  the  mess-chest,  "unless  you  come  and  quiet  the 
mules  immediately,  I  shall  get  down,  cut  the  harness,  and  let 
them  jump  into  the  river  !  " 

An  hour's  drive  brought  us  to  Fort  Yuma,  where  we  rested 
a  day  or  two,  before  resuming  our  journey.  The  country 
here  has  been  described  again  and  again ;  its  dry,  sterile 
plains  and  black,  burnt-looking  hills  have  been  sufficiently 
execrated  —  relieving  me  of  the  necessity  of  adding  my  quota. 
Fort  Yuma  —  grand  in  its  desolateness,  white  and  parched  in 
the  midst  of  its  two  embracing  rivers  —  needs  but  the  Dantean 
inscription  on  its  gateway  to  make  it  resemble  the  entrance 
to  the  regions  of  the  eternally  damned. 

It  was  by  no  means  my  first  glimpse  of  the  "  noble  savage" 
that  I  got  on  the  banks  of  the  Colorado,  or  I  might  have  been 
appalled  at  the  sight  of  a  dozen  or  two  of  barely-clothed, 
filthy-looking  Indians,  squatted  in  rows  wherever  the  sun 
could  burn  hottest  on  their  clay-covered  heads.  The  speci- 
mens here  seen  were  different  from  those  that  had  come  under 
my  observation  on  the  Plains.  That  Indians  can  be  civilized 
William  Lloyd  Garrison  would  not  doubt,  could  he  but  see 
with  what  native  grace  these  dusky  belles  wear  their  crinoline. 
Nor  can  they  be  accused  of  the  extravagance  of  their  white 
sisters  in  matters  pertaining  to  toilet  and  dress :  the  crinoline 
(worn  over  the  short  petticoat,  constituting  their  full  and 
entire  wardrobe,  aside  from  it)  apparently  being  the  only 
article  of  luxury  they  indulge  in,  except  paint  —  and  whiskey, 
when  they  can  get  it.  But  grandest  of  all  were  the  men  — 
the  warrior-like  Yumas  —  arrayed  in  the  traditional  strip  of 
red  flannel,  an  occasional  cast-off  military  garment,  and  the 
cap  of  hard-baked  mud.  above  alluded  to.  I  had  never  seen 


CROSSING    THE  ARIZONA   DESERTS.      305 

these  before,  and  thought  them  very  singular  as  ornaments ; 
but  Phil  soon  explained  their  utility  in  destroying  a  certain 
parasite  by  which  the  noble  red  man  is  afflicted.  During  the 
summer  months  he  seeks  relief  in  an  application  of  wet  mud 
to  the  part  besieged  —  his  head.  The  mud  is  allowed  to 
bake  hard,  in  the  course  of  weeks,  under  the  broiling  sun  ; 
and  when  quite  certain  that  his  enemy  has  been  slaughtered, 
he  removes  the  clay  until  another  application  becomes  neces- 
sary. 

Following  the  course  of  the  Gila  river  for  some  time,  we 
struck  the  desert  again,  beyond  Gila  Bend.  What  struck  me 
as  very  surprising  was,  that  the  desert  here  did  not  look  like 
a  desert  at  all :  the  scattering  v m/<?-bushes  and  growth  of 
cactus  hiding  the  sand  from  one's  eyes,  always  just  a  little 
distance  ahead  —  the  cacti  growing  so  thickly  in  some  places 
that,  when  they  are  in  blossom,  their  flowers  form  a  mosaic 
of  brilliant  hues.  Some  of  them  are  very  curious  —  particu- 
larly the  "monument  cactus,"  a  tall  shaft,  growing  to  a 
height  of  over  thirty  feet,  sometimes  with  arms  branching  out 
on  either  side,  more  generally  a  simple  obelisk,  covered  with 
thorns  from  three  to  four  inches  long. 

We  were  now  nearing  Maricopa  Wells  and  the  Pimo  vil- 
lages. Phil  was  the  pearl  of  all  drivers ;  and  he  recounted 
traditions  and  legends  belonging  to  the  past  of  this  country 
that  even  Prescott  might  have  wished  to  hear.  Phil  had 
studied  the  history  of  the  country  in  his  own  way,  and  had 
evidently  not  kept  his  eyes  closed  while  travelling  back  and 
forth  through  Arizona.  Halting  the  ambulance  one  day,  he 
assisted  me  to  alight  near  a  pile  of  rocks  the  most  wonderful 
it  was  ever  my  fortune  to  behold.  He  called  them  Painted 
Rocks,  or  Sounding  Rocks ;  and  his  theory  in  regard  to  them 
was,  that  this  had  been  a  place  where  the  Indians  had  long 
ago  met  to  perform  their  religious  rites  and  ceremonies. 
Rocks  of  different  sizes  —  from  those  not  above  a  foot  high, 
26*  U 


306  OVER  LA  ND    TALES. 

to  others  that  reached  almost  to  my  shoulders  —  all  rounded 
in  shape,  were  here,  in  the  midst  of  the  plain,  gathered  to- 
gether within  a  space  of  twenty  or  thirty  feet.  They  were 
black  —  whether  from  the  action  of  the  weather  merely,  or 
from  some  chemical  process  —  and  covered  on  all  sides  with 
representations  from  the  animal  world  of  Arizona  and  Mexico. 
The  pictures  had  been  engraved,  in  a  rude  manner,  on  the 
black  ground,  and  embraced,  in  their  variety,  snakes,  lizards, 
toads;  also,  four-footed  animals,  which  I  could  conscien- 
tiously recognize  neither  as  horses  nor  antelopes.  Were  they 
horses,  it  would  go  to  prove  that  these  pictures  had  been' 
made  by  roving  bands  of  Indians,  any  time  after  the  conquest, 
as  it  is  held  that  horses  were  first  brought  to  this  country  by 
Cortez.  Did  the  pictures  represent  antelopes,  it  would 
almost  tempt  me  -to  believe  that  it  was  a  specimen  of  the 
picture-writing  of  the  Aztecs.  The  sun  was  also  represented, 
with  its  circle  of  rays,  which,  in  Phil's  estimation,  was  proof 
conclusive  that  the  heathens  had  come  here  only  to  worship, 
particularly  as  there  was  no  water  in  the  neighborhood,  and 
they  could  not  have  lived  here  for  any  length  of  time.  What 
the  character  of  the  rocks  may  be,  I  am  not  geologist  enough 
to  know;  but  when  struck  they  emit  a  peculiarly  clear  and 
ringing  sound,  like  that  produced  by  striking  against  a  bell 
or  a  glass.  None  of  the  tribes  now  to  be  found  in  that  part 
of  the  country  appear  to  claim  any  knowledge  of  the  origin 
of  these  rocks. 

If  either  the  Pimos,  Maricopas,  or  Yumas  are  descendants 
of  the  Aztecs,  they  have  most  wofully  degenerated.  On  one 
point  their  traditions  all  agree  :  namely,  that  the  three  tribes 
were  not  always  at  peace  with  each  other,  as  they  are  now. 
Long,  long  ago,  when  the  Pimos  were  sorely  pressed  by  the 
more  powerful  Yumas,  they  allied  themselves  with  the  Mari- 
copas; and  when  they  still  found  themselves  in  the  minority 
against  the  common  enemy,  and  had  been  almost  extermi- 


CROSSING    THE  ARIZONA   DESERTS.      307 

nated,  they  flew  to  the  white  man  for  assistance,  and  never 
broke  the  treaty  made  with  him. 

But  the  shimmer  of  romance  and  poetry  one  would  willingly 
throw  around  them,  is  so  rudely  dispelled  by  the  sight  of  these 
lank,  dirty,  half-nude  creatures,  with  faces  exhibiting,  no  more 
intelligence  than  (perhaps  not  so  much  as)  the  faces  of  their 
lean  dogs,  or  shaggy  horses.  Yet,  again,  I  must  confess  that 
even  these  Indians  are  susceptible  of  a  high  degree  of  refine- 
ment and  cultivation.  Two  of  them,  mounted  on  a  horse 
whose  diminutive  size  allowed  their  four  feet  to  touch  the 
ground  at  every  stride,  dressed,  or  rather  undressed,  in  a 
manner  to  strike  terror  into  the  soul  of  any  well  brought-up 
female,  rode  close  up  to  the  ambulance  one  day,  as  it  passed 
through  the  Indian  villages,  one  of  them  shouting,  "  Bully 
for  you  !  "  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  while  the  other  whipped 
up  the  horse  at  the  same  time,  as  though  anxious  to  retreat 
the  moment  thejr  stock  of  polite  learning  had  been  exhausted. 

Meeting  at  Maricopa  Wells  with  the  captain  of  the  infantry 
stationed  at  La  Paz,  we  visited  the  interior  of  the  Pi  mo  and 
Maricopa  villages  together,  on  horseback.  We  rode  through 
the  field  the  Indians  cultivate,  and  irrigate  from  the  Gila 
river,  by  means  of  acequias  dug  through  their  lands  in  all 
directions.  Some  of  their  huts  on  the  roadside  were  deserted 
by  their  owners,  who  had  removed  to  very  airy  residences, 
constructed  of  the  branches  of  cotton-wood  and  willows, 
growing  on  the  banks  of  the  Gila,  located  where  they  could 
overlook  their  possessions  on  all  sides.  As  these  residences 
consisted  simply  of  a  roof,  or  shed,  it  was  no  such  very  hard 
matter  to  keep  a  lookout  on  every  side.  That  they  do  not 
trust  a  great  deal  in  each  other's  honesty,  was  evident  from 
the  way  in  which  they  had  fastened  the  doors  of  their  city 
residences  when  exchanging  them  for  their  country-seats : 
they  had  firmly  walled  up  the  entrance  with  adobe  mud. 
However,  they  are  quiet  and  peaceable,  I  am  told,  unless,  by 


308  OVERLAND    TALES. 

any  chance  or  mischance,  they  get  whiskey  —  of  which  they 
are  as  fond  as  all  other  Indians. 

In  the  mountain  around  which  we  had  passed  on  the  last 
day's  journey  from  Gila  Bend,  is  to  be  seen,  plainly  and  dis- 
tinctly, the  face  of  a  man,  reclining,  with  his  eyes  closed  as 
though  in  sleep.  Among  the  most  beautiful  of  all  the  legends 
told  here,  is  that  concerning  this  face.  It  is  Montezuma's 
face,  so  the  Indians  believe  (even  those  in  Mexico,  who  have 
never  seen  the  image),  and  he  will  awaken  from  his  long  sleep 
some  day,  will  gather  all  the  brave  and  the  faithful  around 
him,  raise  and  uplift  his  down-trodden  people,  and  restore  to 
his  kingdom  the  old  power  and  the  old  glory  —  as  it  was,  be- 
fore the  Hidalgos  invaded  it.  So  strong  is  this  belief  in  some 
parts  of  Mexico,  that  people  who  passed  through  that  country 
years  ago,  tell  me  of  some  localities  where  fires  were  kept  con- 
stantly burning,  in  anticipation  of  Montezuma's  early  coming. 
It  looks  as  though  the  stern  face  up  there  was  just  a  little  soft- 
ened in  its  expression,  by  the  deep  slumber  that  holds  the 
eyelids  over  the  commanding  eye ;  and  all  nature  seems 
hushed  into  death-like  stillness.  Day  after  day,  year  after 
year,  century  after  century,  slumbers  the  man  up  there  on  the 
height,  and  life  and  vegetation  sleep  on  the  arid  plains  below 
—  a  slumber  never  disturbed  —  a  sleep  never  broken  ;  for  the 
battle-cry  of  Yuma,  Pimo,  and  Maricopa  that  once  rang  at 
the  foot  of  the  mountain,  did  not  reach  Montezuma's  ear ; 
and  the  dying  shrieks  of  the  children  of  those  who  came  far 
over  the  seas  to  rob  him  of  his  sceptre  and  crown,  fall  un- 
heeded on  the  rocks  and  the  deserts  that  guard  his  sleep. 

Two  days  more,  and  Phil  pointed  out  to  me,  at  a  distance 
of  some  two  miles  away,  the  ruins  of  the  Casas-Grandes,  sole 
remnant  of  the  Seven  Cities  the  adventurous  Padre  had  so 
enticingly  described  to  the  Spaniards.  I  could  not  induce 
Phil  to  allow  me  a  nearer  view,  as  we  were  in  the  Apache 
country,  and  had  no  escort  save  the  two  soldiers  in  the  am- 


CROSSING    THE  ARIZONA  DESERTS.      309 

bulance  with  us.  From  this  distance  the  houses  looked  to  me 
like  any  other  good -sized,  one-story,  adobe  buildings;  but  the 
material  must  have  been  better  prepared,  or  differently  chosen, 
from  that  which  is  now  used  in  erecting  Mexican  houses,  or 
it  could  not  have  resisted  the  ravages  of  Time  so  far. 

On  we  journeyed,  not  without  some  dread  on  my  part,  and 
a  great  many  assurances  on  the  part  of  Phil  that  I  was  a  very 
courageous  woman.  But  nearing  Tucson,  where  the  danger 
was  greatest,  we  were  not  always  alone.  Mexican  trains 
bound  for,  or  coming  from  Sonora,  sometimes  fell  in  with  us, 
and  I  did  not  despise  their  company,  for  I  knew  that  only 
"in  strength  lay  safety"  for  us.  Some  of  these  trains  con- 
sisted of  pack-donkeys  only,  bearing  on  their  bruised  backs 
the  linen  and  cambrics  which  are  so  beautifully  manufactured 
in  Sonora  and  other  Mexican  provinces ;  others  consisted  of 
wagons  heavily  laden,  their  drivers  armed  to  the  teeth,  and 
well  prepared  to  defend  them  against  attacks  the  Apaches  were 
sure  to  make  on  them,  sometime  and  somewhere  between 
Sonora  and  Tucson. 

One  of  these  trains  belonged  to  Leopoldo  Carillo,  a  Mexi- 
can merchant  of  Tucson,  who  paid  his  men  one  hundred  and 
fifty  dollars  for  every  Indian  scalp  they  delivered  to  him. 
Phil  asked  one  of  the  Mexicans,  driving  a  wagon  drawn  along 
by  some  twelve  or  sixteen  horses,  if  he  had  taken  any  scalps 
on  the  trip.  The  Mexican  nodded  his  head  in  silence,  and 
turned  away.  The  teamster  belonging  to  the  next  wagon  — 
an  American  —  told  us  how  the  Indians  had  "jumped  them," 
just  after  crossing  the  border,  and  how  two  of  them  had  held 
the  Mexican,  just  spoken  to,  at  bay,  while  two  others  killed 
and  scalped  his  younger  brother.  They  all  together,  some 
seven  or  eight  of  them,  had  taken  three  scalps  from  the  In- 
dians on  this  trip  ;  but  he  was  willing  to  lose  his  share  of  the 
prize-money,  the  man  said,  if  the  "pesky  devils  had  n't  taken 
the  boy's  scalp ;  "  for  the  brother,  he  averred,  cried  and 
"  took  on  about  it  "just  like  a  white  man. 


DOWN  AMONG  THE  DEAD  LETTERS. 

OTRANGERS  visiting  Washington,  and  admiring  the  style 
/"N  and  architecture  of  the  General  Post-Office  building, 
would  never  know  that  there  are  numbers  of  ladies  seated 
behind  the  plate-glass  of  the  second-story  windows.  Indeed, 
few  people  residing  in  the  capital  are  really  aware  in  what 
part  of  the  building  those  female  clerks  are  stowed  away.  I 
had  passed  on  every  side  of  the  building — morning,  noon, 
and  night  —  but  never  had  seen  anybody  that  looked  like  a 
"female  clerk,"  till  I  found  myself  of  their  number,  one 
morning;  and  then  I  discovered  the  right  entrance  to  the 
Dead  Letter  Office.  It  is  on  F  street,  so  close  to  the  Ladies' 
Delivery  that  any  person  entering  here  would  be  supposed  to 
be  inquiring  for  a  letter  at  that  delivery.  There  is  another 
entrance  on  E  street,  biit  it  is  not  much  patronized  by  the 
ladies  until  after  fifteen  minutes  past  nine  o'clock;  for  punc- 
tually at  that  time,  the  door-keeper  is  instructed  to  lock  the 
ladies'  door  on  F  street,  and  those  who  are  tardy  are  com- 
pelled to  go  up  the  gentlemen's  staircase,  or  pass  in  at  the 
large  public  entrance  on  E  street.  Crowds  of  visitors  walk 
through  the  building,  day  after  day,  but  not  one  of  all  the 
ladies  employed  here  do  they  see,  unless  they  request  to  be 
shown  the  rooms  of  the  female  employes. 

In  this  department,  working  hours  are  from  nine  o'clock 
in  the  morning  till  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon.  Ladies 
are  not  allowed  to  leave  the  office  for  lunch,  nor  do  they 
waste  much  time  in  discussing  the  lunch  they  may  have 
brought,  as  it  is  only  in  consideration  of  then"  industry  and 

310 


DOWN  AMONG    THE  DEAD  LE  FTERS.     3!! 

close  application  that  they  are  allowed  to  leave  the  office  at 
three  o'clock,  instead  of  four. 

This  Dead  Letter  Office  is  one  of  the  most  complicated 
pieces  of  machinery  in  the  "  ship  of  state."  I  will  try  to 
explain  and  elucidate  as  much  of  it  as  came  under  my  obser- 
vation. Letters  left  "uncalled  for"  at  the  different  post- 
offices  throughout  the  country  are  sent  to  the  Dead  Letter 
Office,  after  a  certain  length  of  time.  Letters  not  prepaid, 
or  short-paid,  through  neglect  or  ignorance  of  the  writer,  also 
find  their  way  here ;  and  so  do  foreign  letters,  from  all  parts 
of  Europe,  which  have  been  prepaid  only  in  part,  and  there- 
fore come  here,  instead  of  reaching  their  destination.  Some- 
times mails  are  robbed,  and  the  mail-bags  hidden  or  thrown 
away,  but  are  afterwards  searched  for,  and  their  remaining 
contents  brought  to  this  office.  Then  again,  a  vessel  at  sea, 
homeward-bound,  brings  letters  from  ships  meeting  it,  of 
sailors  and  passengers,  who  send  their  letters  in  firm  faith  that 
they  will  reach  their  anxious  friends  at  home ;  but  if  our 
Government  happens  to  have  no  treaty  or  contract  with  that 
particular  government  to  which  the  writer  belongs,  of  course, 
the  letters  cannot  be  forwarded,  but  are  laid  at  rest  here. 
These  letters  are  carefully  preserved  for  a  number  of  years. 
They  are  sometimes  called  for,  and  found,  a  long,  long  time 
after  they  were  written;  in  fact,  only  "dead"  letters  are 
destroyed. 

Though  I  wish  to  speak  more  particularly  of  the  duties  and 
labor  performed  by  the  ladies  employed  in  this  department,  I 
must  begin  by  saying  that  all  letters  pass  through  the  hands 
of,  and  are  opened  by,  a  number  of  gentlemen  —  clerks  in 
the  department  —  whose  room  is  on  the  ground  floor  of  the 
building.  A  great  number  of  letters  contain  money,  valuable 
papers,  and  postage  stamps.  These  are  sent  to  the  superin- 
tendent's room.  Letters  without  contents  are  folded,  with 
the  envelope  laid  inside  the  letter,  tied  in  bundles,  and  sent 


312  OVERLAND    TALES. 

up-stairs  for  directing.  Money,  drafts,  and  postage-stamps, 
however,  are  not  the  only  articles  considered  "  mailable  mat- 
ter "  by  the  public.  One  day  I  looked  over  a  box  filled  with 
such  matter,  taken  from  dead  letters  and  parcels  in  the  open- 
ing room,  and  found  in  it  one  half-worn  gaiter  boot,  two 
hair-nets,  a  rag  doll-baby,  minus  the  head  and  one  foot,  a  set 
of  cheap  jewelry,  a  small-sized  frying-pan,  two  ambrotypes, 
one  pair  of  white  kid  gloves,  a  nursing-bottle,  a  tooth-brush, 
a  boot-jack,  three  yards  of  lace,  a  box  of  Ayer's  pills,  a  bunch 
of  keys,  six  nutmegs,  a  toddy-stick,  and  no  end  of  dress  sam- 
ples. This  matter  is  allowed  to  accumulate  for  three  months, 
and  is  then  sold  at  auction  ;  but  a  register  is  so  carefully  kept, 
that  the  person  mailing  the  doll-baby  without  prepaying  can 
follow  its  progress  from  the  little  country  town  where  it  was 
mailed  to  the  end  of  its  career  under  the  hammer  at  the  Dead 
Letter  Office,  and  here  can  claim  the  amount  it  brought  at 
auction. 

Every  clerk,  male  or  female,  has  his  or  her  letter,  from  A 
to  Z,  and  beginning  again  with  A  A,  when  the  alphabet  "runs 
out."  Before  the  ladies  take  their  places  at  the  desk  in  the 
morning,  the  messenger  has  already  placed  there  the  number 
of  envelopes  each  lady  is  expected  to  direct  in  the  course  of 
the  day ;  and  large  baskets  filled  with  bundles  of  letters,  sent 
up  from  the  opening  room  (the  bundles  marked  with  the 
letter  of  the  clerk  through  whose  hands  they  have  passed),  are 
brought  into  the  rooms.  The  envelopes  are  stamped  in  one 
corner  with  the  lady's  letter,  in  red ;  so  that  the  ladies  are 
spoken  of,  by  the  superintendent  or  the  messengers,  as  Miss 
A,  B,  C,  D  — not  as  Miss  Miller,  or  Mrs.  Smith.  Fifty  of 
these  envelopes  are  contained  in  one  package,  so  that  it  is 
easy  to  calculate  whether  any  of  them  are  wasted  by  misdi- 
recting or  blotting.  The  work  looks  simple  enough,  when 
you  see  a  number  of  ladies  seated  at  their  desks,  writing  ad- 
dresses on  envelopes,  with  the  greatest  apparent  ease.  "And 
then,"  as  a  gushing  young  lady  said  to  me  one  day,  "  how 


DOWN  AMONG    THE  DEAD  LETTERS.     313 

romantic  it  must  be  to  listen  to  the  outpourings  of  love  and 
affection  that  these  letters  must  contain  in  many  cases,  and 
the  dark  secrets  that  others  disclose. ' '  She  thought  it  rather 
a  cruel  restraint,  when  I  told  her  we  were  allowed  to  read 
only  so  much  of  a  letter  as  was  necessary  to  discover  the  name 
of  the  writer,  and  to  read  no  part  of  it,  if  the  name  was  signed 
clearly  and  distinctly  at  the  end.  Let  the  lady  reader  pause 
a  moment  and  ask  herself,  "  Do  I  sign  my  letters  so  that  one 
of  these  clerks  could  return  them  from  the  Dead  Letter  Office, 
without  going  over  the  whole  of  their  contents?"  By  the 
time  you  have  finished  reading  this  paper,  I  hope  you  will 
have  formed  the  resolution  to  sign  your  name  "in  full,"  and 
just  as  it  is,  to  every  letter  you  send  by  the  mail.  Don't  sign 
your  name  "  Saida,"  when  it  is  really  Sarah  Jones  "  in  full ;  " 
and  if  you  call  your  father's  brick  house  on  Third  street, 
"  Pine  Grove,"  because  there  are  two  dry  pine-trees  in  the 
front  yard,  don't  neglect  to  add  "  No.  24,  Third  Street, 
Cincinnati,  Ohio."  The  greater  number  of  letters  passing 
through  this  office  are  badly  written  and  uninteresting ;  many 
of  them  so  perfectly  unintelligible  that  no  human  being  can 
read  or  return  them ;  not  that  the  greater  portion  of  our  com- 
munity are  uneducated  or  unintelligent  people,  but  that  they 
are  either  reckless  or  careless.  Letters  directed  with  any  kind 
of  common  sense  are  most  always  sure  of  reaching  their  desti- 
nation without  visiting  the  Dead  Letter  Office.  Not  only  do 
people,  in  a  number  of  cases,  neglect  to  prepay  their  letters, 
but  frequently,  letters  without  direction  or  address  of  any 
kind  are  dropped  into  the  letter-boxes.  In  writing  to  indi- 
viduals residing  in  the  same  city  with  them,  people  think  it 
is  necessary  only  to  mention  the  name  of  the  individual;  the 
"  post-office  man  "  is  expected  to  know  that  the  letter  is  not  to 
go  out  of  the  city.  The  post-office  people  are,  if  not  omnis- 
cient, at  least  very  obliging.  I  have  found  a  letter  directed 
to  "  Carrolton,  in  America,"  and  the  letter  had  been  forwarded 
27 


314  OVERLAND    TALES. 

to,  and  bore  the  post-mark  of  every  Carrolton  in  the  United 
States  before  it  was  sent  here. 

The  work  of  the  ladies  falls  under  two  heads :  "  Common  " 
and  "Special."  We  will  get  the  best  idea  of  what  "  Com- 
mon "  means,  in  contradistinction  to  "  Special,"  by  watching 
Miss  A,  on  "  Common  "  work  this  morning.  Taking  one  of 
the  bundles  of  letters  from  the  basket,  she  opens  it  and  takes 
up  the  top  letter;  spreading  it  on  the  desk,  she  finds  the 
envelope  inside;  it  is  directed  to  "William  Smith,  Philadel- 
phia, Penn.,"  and  the  words  "uncalled  for,"  stamped  on 
the  envelope,  show  why  it  was  sent  here.  Now,  the  signature 
is  to  be  looked  for :  it  is  here  — "  John  Jones ;  "  next,  where 
was  it  dated? — "  Somerville,  Ohio;"  but  does  the  post-mark 
on  the  envelope  correspond  with  that  ?  Yes,  it  is  post-marked 
from  where  it  was  dated;  so,  "John  Jones"  will  receive  his 
letter  back  again:  his  friend,  "  W.  Smith,"  may  have  left 
Philadelphia,  or  may  have  died.  "John  Jones'"  letter  is 
returned  to  him  in  a  coarse,  brown  "P.  O.  D."  envelope, 
stamped  with  the  letter  A  in  one  corner,  and  he  pays  three 
cents  for  the  privilege  of  knowing  that  his  friend  "Smith" 
never  received  his  letter.  The  next  is  a  delicate  pink  affair, 
dated,  "  White  Rose  Bower  " — signed,  "Ella;"  "only  this, 
and  nothing  more;"  so  the  letter  is  hopelessly  dead,  and 
thrown  into  the  paper-basket  at  Miss  A's  side.  The  epistle 
following  this  is  signed,  "Henry  Foster,"  and  could  be  re- 
turned if  it  had  not  been  dated  at  "White  Hall"  and  post- 
marked "  Harrisburg. "  On  looking  over  the  Post-office 
Directory,  we  may  or  may  not  find  a  White  Hall  in  Pennsyl- 
vania, but  there  is  nothing  in  the  letter  to  show  whether 
"Henry  Foster's"  home  is  in  Harrisburg  or  White  Hall; 
consequently,  that  letter  is  dead,  too.  Here  is  one,  signed 
plainly  and  legibly,  but  the  writer  has  omitted  to  date  it  from 
any  particular  place.  From  the  tone  of  the  letter,  it  is 
plainly  to  be  seen  that  he  lives  where  the  letter  was  mailed 
—  but  where  was  it  mailed?  The  post-mark  on  the  envelope 


DOWN  AMONG    THE  DEAD  LE  TTERS.     315 

is  so  indistinct  that  any  lady  not  employed  in  the  Dead  Letter 
Office  would  throw  it  aside  as  "  unreadable ;  "  but  ladies  here 
learn  to  decipher  what  to  ordinary  mortals  would  be  hiero- 
glyphic, or  simply  a  blank.  After  consulting  the  pages  of 
the  Post-office  Directory  beside  her,  Miss  A  passes  the  envelope 
to  Miss  B.  "  Can  you  suggest  any  post-office  in  Indiana  be- 
ginning with  M,  ending  with  L,  with  about  four  letters  be- 
tween?" Miss  B  scrutinizes  the  envelope  closely.  "The 
post-mark  is  not  from  Ind.  (Indiana),  it  is  from  loa"  (Iowa), 
is  her  decision.  Misses  C,  D,  and  E,  at  work  in  the  same 
room,  differ  in  opinion,  and  at  last  Miss  A  steps  across  the 
hall  to  the  room  of  the  lady  superintendent,  where  a  "  blue- 
book  "  is  kept,  and,  with  the  assistance  of  this  lady  and  the 
book,  Miss  A  discovers  the  place  in  Indiana,  directs  the  letter, 
and  continues  her  work.  When  she  has  directed  fifty  letters, 
she  ties  them  (with  both  envelopes  —  the  "P.  O.  D."  and 
original  one  —  inside  each  letter)  carefully  together,  and  the 
messenger  carries  them  into  the  folding-room,  where  other 
ladies,  employed  in  this  branch,  fold  and  seal  them.  Of 
these  "Common"  letters,  every  lady  is  required  to  direct 
from  two  hundred  to  three  hundred  a  day  —  a  task  by  no 
means  easy  to  accomplish. 

"  Special  "  work  is  generally  disliked  by  the  ladies,  and  is 
of  a  somewhat  "  mixed  "  character.  Letters  held  for  postage 
—  consequently  not  "  dead  ' ' —  come  under  this  head.  They, 
too,  are  sent  back  to  the  writer,  if  the  signature  can  be  found, 
and  the  place  from  which  they  are  dated  corresponds  with 
the  post-mark ;  if  not,  they  are  assorted  according  to  letter 
and  put  away  into  "pigeon-holes,"  marked  with  the  letter 
corresponding.  Foreign  letters,  such  as  I  spoke  of  before, 
come  under  this  head,  too.  Then  there  are  official  letters  — 
in  relation  to  military  and  judicial  matters  —  short-paid,  and, 
therefore,  brought  before  this  tribunal.  These  require  minute 
attention,  as  three  and  four  documents  are  inclosed  in  one 
envelope  sometimes,  making  it  difficult  to  discover  who  is 


316  OVERLAND    TALES. 

the  proper  person  to  return  them  to.  Again,  there  are  letters 
with  postage-stamps  to  be  returned,  and  money  letters  con- 
taining not  over  one  dollar:  those  with  larger  amounts  are 
directed  in  the  superintendent's  room.  Ladies  directing 
stamp  and  money  letters  keep  account  of  them  in  a  book, 
submitted,  together  with  the  letters,  to  the  superintendent, 
at  the  close  of  office  hours,  every  day.  Money  letters  are 
marked  with  red  stars,  stamp  letters  with  blue.  Stamps  taken 
from  dead  letters  are  destroyed  by  the  proper  authorities. 
Then,  there  is  copying  to  do  —  orders  and  circulars,  rules 
and  regulations,  to  be  transmitted  to  the  different  local  post- 
offices;  and  translations  to  be  made  of  communications 
received  from  foreign  post  departments.  All  this  is  "  Spe- 
cial "  work.  A  large  proportion  of^the  letters  passing  through 
the  office  are  German  letters  —  some  French,  Italian,  Nor- 
wegian, and  Spanish ;  but  two  German  clerks  are  constantly 
employed,  while  one  clerk  can  easily  attend  to  the  letters  of 
all  the  other  different  nationalities  together. 

Sometimes  it  comes  to  pass  that  the  superintendent  visits 
one  room  or  the  other,  with  a  number  of  letters  in  his  hand ; 
these  have  been  misdirected  or  badly  written.  The  red  letter 
stamped  on  each  letter  guides  him  to  the  desk  of  the  lady 
who  has  directed  it ;  and  very  sensitive  is  each  and  every 
lady  to  the  slightest  reproach  or  reprimand  received,'  because 
of  the  universal  kindness  and  respect  with  which  they  are 
treated  by  all  the  officials  with  whom  they  come  in  contact. 

If  the  task  of  poring  over  these  epistles  of  all  kinds,  day 
after  day,  is,  on  the  whole,  tiresome  and  wearing,  there  are 
certainly  many  incidents  to  relieve  the  tedium  of  the  occupa- 
tion. Incidents,  I  say;  letters,  I  should  say.  The  deep 
respect  we  entertain  for  a  well -known  army  officer  was'justified 
to  me  by  the  insight  his  own  letters  gave  me  into  his  character. 
It  is  against  the  rules  of  the  post-office  department  to  read 
any  part  of  a  letter,  unless  it  is  necessary  to  do  so  in  order 
to  discover  the  correct  address  of  the  writer;  but,  as  the 


DOWN  AMONG    THE  DEAD  LETTERS.     Z17 

general's  handwriting  is  a  little  hasty  and  peculiar,  and  his 
military  honors  and  titles  were  not  appended  to  these  letters 
I  speak  of,  it  was  natural  that  they  should  be  read  by  the 
clerks,  in  order  to  ascertain  whether  they  could  be  returned 
to  the  place  they  were  written  from.  One  of  these  letters 
had  been  written  to  an  old  lady  (I  judged  so  from  the  fact  of 
his  inquiring  about  her  son  and  grand-children)  somewhere 
in  the  South,  who,  it  appeared,  had  entertained  the  general 
at  her  house,  one  day  during  the  war,  when  the  general  was 
very  much  in  want  of  a  dinner  to  eat.  He  had  not  forgotten 
her  kindness  and  hospitality,  though  it  was  now  after  the 
close  of  the  war ;  but  the  old  lady  had  probably  removed 
from  the  little  village  to  which  the  letter  was  directed,  or, 
perhaps,  she  had  died :  so  the  letter  came  into  our  hands, 
and  was  returned  to  the  general.  Another  was  to  an  old 
friend  of  the  general's.  They  had  played  together  as  boys, 
perhaps,  but  his  friend  had  not  risen  to  fame  and  fortune, 
like  himself;  he  was  giving  words  to  his  deep  sympathy  with 
a  misfortune  or  bereavement  that  had  befallen  his  friend  — 
sympathy  expressed  with  such  tender,  true  feeling,  that  we 
felt  as  though  it  were  another  bereavement  that  he  should 
have  lost  this  letter  of  the  general's. 

The  remark  was  often  made  among  us  that  the  Dead  Letter 
Office  afforded  the  very  best  opportunities  for  making  collec- 
tions of  autographs  of  celebrated  people  —  only  the  author- 
ities could  not  be  made  to  see  it  in  that  light.  It  was  always 
with  a  sigh  of  regret,  I  must  confess,  that  letters  signed  by 
such  names  as  Bancroft,  Whittier,  Beecher,  Grant,  Greeley, 
were  returned  to  their  rightful  owners.  The  most  interesting 
accounts  of  foreign  travel  were  sometimes  contained  in  the 
dead  letters  —  accounts  more  interesting  than  any  book  ever 
published.  These  were,  as  a  general  thing,  written  by  ladies 
—  and  that  sealed  their  doom.  Gentlemen  writing  letters 
almost  always  sign  their  full  name  j  but  a  lady  will  write  a, 
27* 


318  OVERLAND    TALES. 

dozen  pages,  telling  her  friends  all  about  the  Louvre  and  the 
Tuileries,  the  Escurial  and  London  Tower,  in  one  long  let- 
ter, and  then  sign  Kate,  or  Lillie,  at  the  end,  thus  precluding 
all  possibility  of  having  her  letter  returned,  though  we  know 
from  it  that  she  has  returned  to  her  home  in  Boston.  It  is 
almost  incredible  what  a  large  number  of  letters  passing 
through  our  hands  are  "finished  off"  by  that  classically 
beautiful  verse  —  "My  pen  is  bad,  my  ink  is  pale;  my  love 
for  you  will  never  fail" — and  it  is  impossible  to  believe  in 
how  many  different  ways  and  styles  these  touching  line*  can  be 
written  and  spelled,  till  you  find  them  dished  up  to  you  a 
dozen  times  a  day,  in  this  office.  Eastern  people  don't  ap- 
preciate this  "pome"  as  Western  farmers  do.  Missouri  rus- 
tics are  particularly  addicted  to  it.  What  the  predilection  of 
the  Southern  people  might  have  been,  I  cannot  say ;  it  was 
just  after  the  close  of  the  war,  and  their  letters  were  pitiful 
enough.  Of  course  there  was  not  a  Federal  postage-stamp  to 
be  had  in  any  of  the  Southern  States ;  and  no  matter  how 
deeply  the  contents  of  some  of  these  letters  affected  us,  we 
could  not  forward  them  to  the  people  they  were  addressed  to.- 
These  letters  from  the  South  portrayed  so  terribly  true  the 
bitter,  abject  poverty  of  all  classes,  at  that  time,  that  the 
Northerners  to  whom  they  were  written  would  not  have  hes- 
itated to  assist  these  friends  of  "better  days,"  could  they 
have  received  the  letters ;  but,  even  had  we  been  allowed  to 
forward  them,  the  chances  were  extremely  slender  that  people 
were  still  in  the  same  position  and  location  after  the  war  as 
before  the  war. 

Not  these  letters  alone  were  sad ;  for  sometimes  a  whole 
drama  could  be  read  from  one  or  two  short  letters.  One  day 
we  found  among  the  dead  letters  a  note  written  in  a  feeble, 
scrawling  hand.  It  was  by  a  boy,  a  prisoner  and  sick,  in  one 
of  the  penal  institutions  of  New  York  —  sick,  poor  fellow! 
and  imploring  his  mother —  oh,  so  piteously  !  — to  come  and 
see  him,  He  was  in  the  sick  ward,  he  said,  and  if  he  had 


DOWN  AMONG    THE  DEAD  LETTERS.     319 

been  wicked,  and  had  struck  at  his  step-father  when  he  saw 
him  abuse  his  mother,  would  she  not  come  to  see  him,  only 
once,  for  all  that  ?  She  must  not  let  his  step-father  prevent 
her  from  coming ;  he  was  dreaming  of  his  mother  and  sister 
every  night,  and  he  knew  his  mother  would  come  to  him ; 
but  she  must  come  soon,  for  the  doctor  had  said  so.  Perhaps 
the  letter  had  not  reached  the  mother  because  the  step-father 
had  taken  her  out  of  the  son's  reach  ;  for,  in  the  course  of  a 
day  or  two,  we  found  another  letter  addressed  to  the  same 
woman,  by  one  of  the  prison  officials :  the  boy,  Charley,  had 
died  on  such  a  date  —  about  a  week  after  his  letter  had  been 
written  —  and  he  had  looked  and  asked  for  his  mother  to  the 
last. 

About  letters  written  by  German  people  I  have  noticed  one 
peculiarity :  they  never  omit  to  write  the  number  of  the  year 
in  some  part  of  the  letter,  or  on  the  envelope,  outside.  Some- 
times it  is  written  where  the  name  of  the  country  or  the  State 
should  be  found  on  the  envelope,  so  that  the  direction  would 
read,  "Jacob  Schmied,  St.  Louis,  1865  ;  "  or  they  write  it  at 
the  bottom  of  the  letter,  instead  of  signing  their  name,  and 
then  write  their  name  at  the  beginning  of  the  letter,  as  though 
they  were  writing  the  letter  to  themselves.  Everything  is 
heavy  and  clumsy  about  their  letters ;  they  never  indulge  in' 
joke  or  sentiment ;  and  through  the  negligence  of  one  of 
the  German  clerks,  the  most  serious  trouble  had  almost  been 
brewed  in  a  German  brewer's  family,  at  one  time.  It  hap- 
pened in  this  way : 

A  substantial  German  brewer  had  written  to  Hans  Bier- 
soffel,  dunning  him  for  money,  owing  on  several  barrels  of 
lager.  Hans  must  have  left  the  city  —  at  any  rate,  the  letter 
came  to  our  office,  and  was  returned  to  the  brewer ;  but,  un- 
fortunately, a  very  sentimental  letter,  containing  a  copy  of 
some  love-sick  verses,  written  by  a  German  lady,  and  held  in 
the  office  as  a  curiosity  for  a  little  while,  had  (by  mistake,  of 
course)  found  its  way  into  this  letter.  The  honest  Dutchman 


32O  OVERLAND    TALES. 

had  meant  to  return  this  piece  of  property  to  our  office  at  the 
first  opportunity,  and  therefore  carried  it  in  his  pocket-book, 
where  his  wife  discovered  it,  seized  it,  and  held  it  over  his 
head,  as  the  sword  of  Damocles,  forever  after  —  as  he  could 
not  prove  to  her  satisfaction  that  the  letter  and  verses  had  not 
been  sent  to  him  by  the  writer. 

At  the  time  I  belonged  to  the  corps  of  dead  letter  clerks, 
there  were  three  rooms  fronting  on  Seventh  street,  fitted  up  as 
offices  for  the  lady  clerks,  and  one  very  large  room  on  the 
other  side  of  the  hall.  A  straw  mat  was  spread  on  the  stone 
floor  in  our  room;  one  office-chair  was  furnished  for  each 
lady,  and  desks  barely  large  enough  for  two  ladies  to  work -at, 
without  elbowing  each  other ;  and  in  one  corner,  wash-stand 
and  water.  In  the  large  room  some  twenty  ladies  were  writ- 
ing, while  four  or  five  folders  had  their  desk  in  the  same  room. 
Of  the  other  rooms,  one  was  occupied  by  the  lady  superin- 
tendent, together  with  whom  were  from  four  to  six  ladies ; 
the  next  room  also  accommodated  six  ladies,  and  the  last  one, 
which  had  the  look  of  a  prison,  from  a  high  grating  running 
through  it,  afforded  room  for  four  others.  There  were  old 
Post-office  Directories,  boxes  containing  printed  matter,  and 
such  like  valuables,  kept  behind  -this  grating ;  and  one  day, 
when  a  party  of  sightseers  came  unasked  into  our  room,  the 
youngest  lady  there  —  whose  spirit  had  not  yet  been  broken 
by  the  weight  of  the  responsibilities  resting  on  her  shoulders 

—  explained  to  the  gaping  crowd  that  behind   this  grating 
were  kept  the  silver  and  household  furniture  of  General , 

—  the  assistant  postmaster  —  boxed  up,  while  he  was  recruit- 
ing in  the  country.     This  was  a  twofold  revenge,  the  young 
lady  said  to  us :   it  was  punishing  the  visitors  for  their  inquis- 

itiveness,  and  "old "  for  having  the  grating  put  up  there. 

Several  years  have  passed   since  I  last   saw  the   post-office 
building;  the  ladies  of  room  No.  — were  then  petitioning  to 
have    this    grating    removed.      Whether    their    petition    was 
granted,  I  have  not  learned. 


MARCHING  WITH  A  COMMAND. 

FROM  Carlisle  Barracks,  Pennsylvania,  we  were  ordered 
to  Fort  Leavenworth,  Kansas,  there  to  join  General 
Sykes'  command,  then  fitting  out  for  the  march  across 
the  Plains.  General  Sykes  commanded  the  Fifth  Infantry, 
while  my  husband  belonged  to  the  Third  Cavalry ;  but  as  the 
latter  regiment  was  to  take  up  the  line  of  march  from  Little 
Rock,  Arkansas,  through  Texas,  the  lieutenant,  as  well  as 
some  three  or  four  other  officers  of  the  Third,  were  well  satis- 
fied to  be  assigned  to  the  infantry  command,  and  sent  in 
charge  of  recruits  from  Washington  and  Carlisle,  to  join  Gen- 
eral Sykes  at  Fort  Leavenworth. 

The  two  regiments  (Fifth  Infantry  and  Third  Cavalry)  were 
to  rendezvous  at  Fort  Union,  New  Mexico,  where  General 
Carleton  was  to  meet  the  troops,  and  assign  them  to  the  dif- 
ferent forts,  camps,  and  stations  in  his  department.  This  was 
immediately  after  the  close  of  the  war;  and  these  eight  hun- 
dred men  of  the  Fifth  Infantry  and  the  Third  Cavalry,  under 
Colonel  Howe,  were  the  first  regulars  sent  out  to  the  Ter- 
ritories, from  whence  they  had  been  called  in  to  do  some  of 
the  hard  fighting  when  the  rebellion  broke  out  —  volunteers 
and  colored  troops  taking  their  place  on  the  frontiers. 

It  was  early  June — the  sky  radiant,  the  earth  laughing. 
Birds  of  the  western  prairies  warbled  their  greeting  from  out 
the  rose-trellises  and  sweet-scented  flowers  of  the  little  en- 
closures in  front  of  the  officers'  quarters,  which,  surrounding 
the  well  kept  parade-ground,  gave  the  place  the  look  of  one 
large  bright-blooming  garden.  For  days  there  had  been  at 
V  321 


322  OVERLAND    TALES. 

the  fort  signs  and  sounds  as  of  a  swarm  of  bees  preparing  to 
leave  the  hive.  The  carriage  of  the  general  flew  back  and 
forth  between  the  town  and  the  fort ;  the  quartermaster  dashed 
through  the  corrals,  and  by  the  workshops  on  his  handsome 
sorrel ;  females  of  all  shades  and  colors  were  interviewed  and 
interrogated  by  officers'  wives,  who  meant  to  provide  them- 
selves with  luxuries  for  the  journey ;  and  new  faces  were  seen 
and  scanned  in  the  mess-room  every  day. 

The  first  day  out  from  Fort  Leavenworth  we  made  but  a  few 
miles ;  the  general  seemed  bent  only  on  getting  his  command 
away  from  the  barracks,  for,  though  warned  for  weeks  of  the 
day  of  starting,  there  were  those  who  seemed  as  little  pre- 
pared for  the  march  now  as  they  had  been  two  weeks  ago. 
Well  I  remember  the  camp  we  made  that  first  day  —  amid 
grass  so  high  that  we  felt  and  looked  like  ants  moving  among 
the  blades  —  and  the  confusion  in  our  own  establishment  and 
that  of  our  neighbors.  The  advantages  of  having  secured 
the  services  of  an  old  army-woman  became  apparent  at  this 
early  stage.  Without  having  at  all  consulted  me,  Mrs.  Mel- 
ville had  boiled  a  ham,  and  stowed  bread,  cheese,  and  sardines, 
where  she  could  readily  lay  hands  on  the  articles,  in  the  mess- 
chest.  Coffee  was  quickly  cooked,  and  we  could  sit  down  to 
our  meal  and  invite  others  to  it,  before  we  had  fairly  realized 
the  discomforts  of  a  first  night  in  camp. 

A  good  woman  was  Mrs.  Melville,  but  dreadfully  tyran- 
nical—  domineering  ruthlessly  over  myself  and  her  husband, 
and  only  in  awe  of  the  lieutenant  when  he  insisted  on  having 
his  own  way.  They  had  always  served  in  the  cavalry,  and 
had  now  again  enlisted  (I  mean  the  husband,  who  drove  our 
carriage,  had  enlisted)  in  the  Third ;  and  as  Melville  was  the 
only  cavalry  recruit  with  the  command,  it  had  been  a  matter 
of  some  difficulty  to  appropriate  him  and  his  wife.  It  was 
not  till  the  second  day,  when  we  made  camp,  that  I  saw  how 
large  the  command  was;  and  I  remember  thinking  that  it  had 


MARCHING    WITH  A    COMMAND.  323 

taken  since  yesterday  for  the  "tail-end"  of  the  train  of 
wagons,  mules,  and  horses  to  leave  the  corrals  and  get  into 
camp.  When  we  left  our  camping-ground  in  the  morning 
and  returned  to  the  highway,  there  was  a  broad  road  with 
deep  ruts  behind  us,  and  hundreds  of  acres  of  prairie-land 
made  bare  and  torn  up,  as  though  a  city  had  been  swept  away, 
where  the  day  before  no  sign  of  human  life  had  been  and  the 
tall  grass  had  waved  untouched  over  the  soft,  black  soil. 
Fancy  the  tramp  of  eight  hundred  men,  the  keen,  light-turn- 
ing wheels  of  a  dozen  or  two  of  carriages,  and  the  heavy, 
crunching  weight  of  two  hundred  army-wagons,  drawn  each 
by  six  stout  mules  !  No  wonder  the  grass  never  grew  again 
where  General  Sykes's  command  had  passed  ! 

Besides  the  twelve  hundred  mules  in  the  wagons,  there  were 
some  two  hundred  head  extra,  and  a  number  of  horses  for 
the  officers.  All  of  these  animals  had  been  drawn  from  the 
government  corrals  at  Fort  Leavenworth ;  but  I  never  realized 
how  many  there  were,  till  one  evening  about  four  days  out 
from  the  fort. 

Elsewhere  I  have  spoken  of  my  white  horse,  Toby,  who  had 
so  quickly  become  domesticated  that  he  would  insist  on  re- 
turning to  our  tent,  no  matter  how  emphatically  he  was  told 
that  he  must  be  turned  out,  and  stay  with  the  rest  of  the  herd. 
The  mules  had  been  accustomed  to  follow  the  lead  of  a  white 
"  bell-mare"  in  the  corrals;  and  as  Toby  was  the  only  white 
horse  in  the  outfit,  they  became  greatly  attached  to  him,  and 
would  follow  him  in  his  vagaries  wherever  he  led.  Unfor- 
tunately, when  he  took  his  way  back  to  the  camp  and  to  our 
tent  this  evening,  the  herders  were  not  on  the  alert  as  usual, 
and  before  they  could  turn  the  tide  there  was  a  stampede, 
and  a  perfect  overflow  of  mules  in  the  camp.  Such  yelling 
and  bellowing  as  those  animals  set  up,  when  they  found  them- 
selves floundering  among  the  tents,  and  belabored  with  clubs, 
ropes,  and  picket-pins  by  the  enraged  soldiers,  was  never 


324  OVERLAND    TALES. 

heard  before  nor  since.  Even  Toby's  serenity  was  disturbed, 
and  he  stood  half-way  in  the  tent,  trembling,  and  looking  as 
though  he  knew  that  the  wagon- master  was  making  his  way 
to  our  settlement.  Though  I  could  forgive  the  man's  rage, 
as  he  pushed  the  horse  to  one  side  and  passed  into  the  tent, 
neither  the  lieutenant  nor  myself  took  kindly  to  his  offer  to 
"shoot  the  horse  the  next  time  he  undertook  to  stampede 
the  herd ; ' '  and  I  held  close  on  to  Toby  till  the  mules  were 
driven  back,  and  the  wagon-master's  wrath  had  cooled. 

Truth  to  tell,  before  the  next  forty-eight  hours  were  over, 
I  was  wellnigh  converted  to  the  belief  that  we  had  drawn 
the  meanest  stock  the  government-stables  had  ever  contained. 
I  forgot  to  say  that  each  of  the  officers  had  been  assigned  a 
company  of  the  recruits,  and  as  they  marched  with  them,  we 
ladies  were  left  in  our  carriages  alone.  No  sooner  was  the 
command  fairly  on  the  road  this  morning  than  Molly  and 
Jenny,  a  pair  of  green  mules  drawing  our  carriage,  fell  to 
jumping  and  kicking  on  a  rough  piece  of  ground,  and  a 
moment  later  the  carriage  was  laid  prone  on  one  side,  while 
I  quietly  clambered  out  on  the  other.  A  chorus  of  little 
screams  went  up  from  the  rest  of  the  carriages  —  expressing 
more  horror,  I  think,  at  my  getting  up  without  the  assistance 
of  the  doctor,  who  came  flying  up  on  his  square-headed  bay, 
than  at  the  accident  itself. 

This  was  not  enough  of  evil  for  the  day.  We  made  camp 
early  (the  general  made  not  over  fifteen  miles  a  day  when 
first  starting  out  with  the  recruits),  and  Molly  and  Jenny, 
fastened  to  each  other  by  a  light  chain  around  the  neck,  fol- 
lowed Toby  through  the  camp,  where  they  had  come  to  be 
accepted  as  standing  nuisances.  Away  up  near  the  general's 
tent,  Toby  must  have  fancied  there  was  good  grazing,  for  he 
went  there,  the  two  mules  en  train.  What  followed  I  learned 
from  the  grinning  orderly,  who  rapped  at  our  tent  soon  after, 
holding  the  mules  by  the  chain,  and  saying  that  "  the  general 


MATCHING    WITH  A    COMMAND.  325 

sent  his  compliments  to  the  lieutenant,  and  he  'd  shoot  the 
mules,  and  the  white  horse  too,  the  next  time  they  pulled  the 
tent-fly  down  over  him." 

I  looked  stealthily  out,  and  saw  Toby  in  the  distance,  con- 
templatively switching  his  tail,  and  half  a  dozen  men  at  work 
re-erecting  the  general's  tent.  The  story  was  too  good  to 
keep ;  and  the  general  himself  told  how,  lying  asleep  on  his 
cot,  under  the  tent-fly,  where  it  was  cool,  he  had  been  waked 
up  by  Toby's  nose  brushing  his  face.  Raising  himself,  and 
hurling  one  boot  and  an  invective  at  the  horse,  he  was  sur- 
prised at  seeing  the  two  mules  trying  to  stare  him  out  of 
countenance  at  the  open  end  of  the  fly.  The  other  boot  was 
shied  at  them,  but  there  was  no  time  to  send  anything  else. 
The  chain  fastening  the  mules  together  had  become  twisted 
around  the  pole  holding  up  the  fly,  and  the  precipitate  retreat 
of  the  long-eared  pair  brought  the  heavy  canvas  down  on  the 
general's  face. 

Would  I  could  end  my  "  tale  of  woe"  right  here;  but  a 
love  of  truth  compels  me  to  say  that  the  meanness  of  that 
horse  seemed  endless,  and  his  capacity  for  wickedness  was 
such  that  portions  of  it  fell  on  Molly  and  Jenny,  when  a  par- 
ticularly rich  harvest  rewarded  his  efforts  at  deviltry.  When 
Toby  came  to  the  tent-door,  early  next  morning,  I  noticed  a 
strangely  bright  polish  on  his  fore-hoofs,  and  a  suspicious 
greasiness  about  his  nose  and  face.  Molly  and  Jenny  had 
greasy  streaks  running  all  over  them,  and  seemed  so  well  fed 
that  I  wondered  to  myself  which  of  the  officers'  horses  had  to 
suffer  last  night,  and  go  supperless  to  bed.  Toby  sniffed  dis- 
dainfully at  the  bread  I  offered  him,  and  turned  to  walk  off 
very  suddenly  when  he  saw  Melville  coming  toward  the  tent. 
I  must  explain  that  the  tents  were  always  pitched  in  the  same 
order  —  the  lieutenant's  on  one  side  of  us;  Captain  New- 
bold's.on  the  other;  the  baggage-wagon  assigned  to  each 
officer  drawn  up  behind  the  tent ;  the  mules,  of  course,  turned 
28 


326  OVERLAND    TALES. 

out  with  the  rest  of  the  herd.  Melville  pointed  to  the  wagon 
behind  Captain  Newbold's  tent,  where  a  knot  of  men  were 
gathered,  bending  to  the  ground ;  but  he  seemed  too  full  for 
utterance.  Almost  instinctively  I  knew  what  he  wanted  to 
tell  me.  Newbold  had  brought  two  large  jars  of  butter  with 
him  from  Leavenworth,  and  Toby  had  encountered  them  last 
night,  wiping  his  mouth  on  Molly  and  Jenny  when  he  found 
the  butter  not  to  his  taste.  Over  and  above  that,  he  had 
hauled  six  or  eight  grain-sacks  out  of  the  wagon,  opened  the 
sacks  with  his  teeth,  and  scattered  the  grain  for  the  two 
mules  to  eat. 

I  wanted  to  kill  Toby  on  the  spot ;  for  the  Newbolds  were 
the  best  of  neighbors,  sharing  with  us,  througli  the  whole  of 
that  journey,  the  milk  their  cow  (the  only  one  with  the  whole 
train)  was  pleased  to  give.  Not  a  word  of  complaint  was 
heard  from  the  captain  or  his  little  wife ;  but  I  did  hope 
honestly  that  the  miserable  white  horse  might  die  of  his  extra 
feed  of  butter  and  oats. 

In  the  evening  Colonel  Lane  gathered  the  ladies  together, 
led  us  to  the  top  of  a  hill,  and  pointed  out  where  Fort  Riley 
lay,  like  a  grand  fortress,  with  long,  white  walls,  rising  on  a 
green  eminence.  We  reached  it  next  day  by  night-fall,  and 
though  camped  several  miles  outside  of  it,  there  were  so 
many  things  which  we  found  we  actually  needed,  and  which 
could  only  be  had  at  this,  the  last  post  of  any  importance, 
that  the  greater  number  of  officers  were  constantly  to  be  seen 
between  the  sutler-store  and  the  saddler-shop,  the  quarter- 
master's office  and  the  corrals. 

After  a  rest  of  three  days,  we  took  up  the  line  of  march 
again  through  prairie-land,  dotted  with  farms  and  broken  by 
forests  and  streams,  through  which  (after  having  crossed  the 
Kansas  river  at  Manhattan,  on  a  pontoon-bridge,  before  reach- 
ing Fort  Riley)  the  soldiers  seemed  to  think  it  rare  sport  to 
wade,  barefooted,  carrying  shoes  and  stockings  in  their  hands. 


MA  R  CHIN  G    WI TH  A    CO  MAI  A  ND.  327 

The  country  grew  wilder  and  more  desolate ;  and  passing  a 
farm-house  one  day,  near  which  there  were  buffaloes  grazing 
in  the  pasture  with  oxen  and  cows,  it  seemed  nothing  extraor- 
dinary, though,  of  course,  we  did  not  see  the  buffalo  in  his 
native  freedom  till  some  time  after.  At  Ellsworth  (now  Fort 
Harker)  we  halted  again  for  a  day,  and  then  gradually  en- 
tered the  wilderness.  Fort  Zarah  seems  to  have  grown  where 
it  is,  only  to  help  make  the  country  look  sadder  and  more 
desolate ;  but  the  well  they  have  is  splendid.  I  think  so  at 
least,  for  I  was  so  thirsty  when  we  turned  in  there  at  noon, 
though  we  continued  the  march  and  did  not  make  camp.  The 
general  seemed  to  consider  the  feet  of  his  men  fully  seasoned 
by  this  time;  and  they  certainly  made  some  hard  days' 
marches  before  they  reached  Fort  Union.  The  days'  marches 
were  harder  for  them  than  they  were  for  us,  on  the  whole; 
though  many  a  time,  creeping  slowly  over  the  tediously  level 
ground,  did  I  wish  that  I  could  march  with  them,  or  help 
drive  mules,  or  lead  horses  —  anything  rather  than  sit  in  the 
carriage  for  hours,  the  sun  beating  down  in  just  the  same 
direction,  the  men  in  front  moving  along  in  just  the  same 
measure.  But  there  was  something  grand  about  it  at  the 
same  time  —  a  forest  of  bayonets  in  front  of  us,  an  endless 
train  of  wagons  behind  us,  moving  silently  through  the  solemn 
wilds;  hosts  of  red-winged  black-birds  fluttering  along  with 
us,  the  rarer  blue-jay  flying  haughtily  over  their  heads. 

There  was  always  something  to  see  ;  the  prairie-flowers  were 
so  dazzlingly  colored  some  days,  or  the  rock  lay  in  such  odd 
strata ;  and  in  one  place  we  saw  the  remains  of  some  rough 
fortifications  built  of  the  rocks  —  thrown  up  hastily,  perhaps, 
one  day  when  the  party  of  brave  emigrants  spied  "  ye  noble 
savage"  bearing  down  on  them.  In  camp  everything  looked 
pleasant  and  cheerful.  The  general  had  traversed  the  coun- 
itry  more  than  once,  knew  every  spring  on  the  road,  and  had 
the  camping-ground  kept  so  neat  that  we  could  have  stopped 


328  OVERLAND    TALES. 

in  one  place  a  good  many  days  without  any  discomfort. 
Beyond  that,  he  was  courteous  and  thoughtful  of  our  comfort, 
as  only  a  soldier  can  be  ;  and  there  was  not  a  lady  "  march- 
ing with  the  command"  who  would  not  have  voted  him  a 
major-general  of  the  United  States  army,  or  into  the  Presi- 
dential chair,  if  he  had  preferred  it. 

At  Fort  Dodge,  where  officers  and  men  burrowed  half  under 
ground  (at  that  time),  I  had  not  the  least  desire  to  remain. 
However,  a  few  miles  back,  where  the  river  makes  the  bend, 
there  is  a  singular  grandeur  about  the  country,  with  nothing 
to  break  the  utter  loneliness,  save  the  sad,  heavy  murmur  of 
the  water.  And  now  we  are  out  on  the  plains  again ;  day 
after  day  we  travel  over  land  that  lies  so  level  and  so  still  that 
not  a  being  but  the  lark  seems  living  here  beside  us.  How 
hot  and  fierce  the  sun  glares  down  on  the  slowly-winding 
column  —  a  serpent  it  seems,  with  its  length  outstretched,  as 
it  moves  over  the  bare,  brown  prairie.  The  spirit  grew  op- 
pressed, and  the  heart  fainted  in  the  noon-day  sun ;  the  com- 
mand to  halt  was  always  received  with  joy ;  and  more  than 
once  we  had  to  make  forced  marches  to  reach  water.  Yet 
we  lost  but  one  man  out  of  the  eight  hundred,  and  he  died 
the  day  we  struck  the  Arkansas  again  —  died  in  the  road 
almost  —  and  we  carried  him  with  us  to  camp  ;  and  at  night, 
when  the  stars  had  come  out  and  tear-drops  hung  in  the  eyes 
of  the  flowers  by  the  river-bank,  they  carried  him  to  his  lonely 
grave.  I  went  to  the  tent-door  when  I  heard  the  muffled 
drums,  and  stood  outside,'  in  the  dark,  where  I  could  see  the 
short  procession  passing.  Lanterns  were  carried  in  the  train 
that  moved  ghostly  away  from. the  camp-fires  and  the  white- 
looming  tents.  The  grave  was  not  far,  and  when  they  had 
lowered  the  coffin  I  saw  the  form  of  a  man  bowing  over  it,  as 
though  in  prayer,  and  then  the  earth  was  shovelled  back. 
The  soldiers  returned  with  measured  tread,  and  left  their 
comrade  on  the  wide,  lone  prairie,  with  only  the  Arkansas  to 
sing  his  dirge. 


MA  R  C II  ING    WI  Til  AGO  MM  A  ND.  3  29 

I  went  to  sleep  with  tears  in  my  eyes  ;  but  we  were  to  make 
an  early  start  in  the  morning,  and  before  daybreak  we  were 
all  awake  and  astir.  Sadness  could  not  live  in  the  heart  those 
early  mornings,  and  I  thought  sometimes  the  general  had 
reveille  sounded  so  early  purposely,  to  show  us  how  beautiful 
Nature  was  at  sunrise. 

Sunrise  on  the  plains !  Is  there  anything  in  music,  in 
painting,  in  poetry,  that  can  bring  before  eyes  that  have 
never  beheld  it,  the  passing  beauty  of  such  a  scene  ?  There 
are  strains  in  music  which  bring  a  faint  shadow  of  the  picture 
back  to  me ;  no  art  can  ever  reproduce  it.  How  balmy  the 
faint  breath  of  wind  that  seems  to  lift  upward  the  light,  gray 
clouds,  to  make  way  for  the  rosy  tints  creeping  athwart  the 
horizon  !  Watch  the  clouds  as  they  rise  higher  in  the  heavens ; 
see  how  the  sun-god  has  kissed  them  into  blushes  as  bright  as 
the  damask-rose,  sending  a  flood  of  yellow  light  to  cover  them 
with  greater  confusion.  Now  they  float  gently  upward  till 
they  reach  the  clear,  blue  sky,  from  where  the  yellow  light 
has  faded  ;  and,  watching  bevies  of  other  clouds,  still  dancing 
in  the  light  above  the  first  rays  of  the  rising  sun,  the  color 
fades  from  them,  and  they  waft  hither  and  thither  —  white 
clouds  on  deep  blue  ground  —  till  the  morning  breeze  bears 
them  away  from  our  sight.  But  words  are  weak  and  tame  ; 
and  the  yellow-breasted  prairie-lark  alone,  rising  high  in  the 
sun-bright  air  as  the  day  begins,  gives  fit  expression  to  her 
thanks  for  the  glories  of  creation,  in  the  wordless  song  she 
sings  forever. 

We  were  always  far  on  the  day's  journey  before  the  sun  was 
fairly  up ;  it  was  very  early,  to  be  sure,  and  often  as  the  tents 
were  struck  when  the  generate  was  sounded,  the  families  occu- 
pying them  could  be  seen  tumbling  out,  the  children  only  half- 
dressed  ;  and  it  happened  sometimes  that  carriages  were  left 
behind,  when  not  ready  to  fall  into  line  when  the  march  was 
beaten.  In  times  of  danger  from  Indians,  of  course,  this 
28* 


330  OVERLAND    TALES. 

would  not  have  happened  ;  but  at  that  time  there  was  thought 
to  be  no  danger,  except  at  night. 

Mrs.  Melville  had  developed  into  an  unmitigated  tyrant, 
and  one  of  her  victims  was  an  Englishman,  a  raw  recruit,  who 
had  been  given  the  lieutenant  as  servant.  His  name  was  either 
Ackley  or  Hackley,  Ockley  or  Hockley.  If  he  insisted  it  was 
one,  Mrs.  Melville  said  it  was  the  other ;  and  so  completely 
cowed  was  he  at  last  that  he  no  longer  dared  to  assert  his 
right  to  any  name.  I  often  thought  it  was  a  national  revenge 
she  was  wreaking  on  the  poor  fellow  (she  and  her  husband 
had  sprung  from  the  Emerald  Isle).  He  had  to  do  all  the 
work  that  should  have  fallen  to  her  share,  and  he  never  had  a 
moment  to  spare  for  the  lieutenant  or  myself.  From  the 
first  day  of  starting,  I  had  detected,  among  the  detail  of  men 
sent  to  pitch  our  tent,  a  countryman  of  mine,  a  poor  Dutch- 
man, the  greenest  of  his  kind.  I  electrified  him  one  day  by 
speaking  German  to  him,  and  ever  after  his  pale,  worn  face 
would  brighten,  and  his  eyes  light  up,  when  I  asked  of  him  any 
little  service  or  assistance.  The  general,  knowing  me  to  be  a 
German,  allowed  the  man  to  wait  on  us ;  and  Mohrman  was 
happy  as  a  king  when  he  could  fondle  Toby,  or  put  our  tent 
to  rights,  and  fix  things  comfortably  for  me  in  the  carriage. 
He  was  a  cabinet-maker,  and  the  camp-table  he  made  for  us 
was  the  envy  of  the  whole  camp.  The  poor  fellow  was  weak 
in  the  chest  (something  unusual  for  one  of  his  nationality), 
and  a  big  Irish  corporal,  who  was  a  good  enough  fellow  other- 
wise, had  always  imposed  on  Mohrman,  because  he  was  igno- 
rant of  the  language,  and  could  make  no  complaint  to  his 
officer.  'He  continued  to  bear  with  Stebbins's  petty  persecu- 
tions like  a  saint,  till  one  morning  he  made  his  appearance 
at  the  tent-door,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  and  complained  that 
the  corporal  had  deprived  him  of  the  last  thing  he  had  left, 
coming  from  the  "Fatherland" — his  Gesang-Buch,  which 
his  mother  had  given  him  on  the  day  of  confirmation. 


MARCHING  WITH  A  COMMAND.     33! 

I  stepped  outside,  where  Corporal  Stebbins  with  his  detail 
stood,  waiting  to  strike  the  tent  at  the  sounding  of  the  gene- 
rale.  There  was  a  lurking  grin  on  the  corporal's  face,  as  he 
approached  at  my  summons. 

"  Corporal,"  said  I,  "  have  you  Mohrman's  book?  " 

"  Sure,  ma'am,  and  is  it  his  prayer-book  the  poor  b'y  wants? 
Ye  see,  he  complained  yesterday  that  his  knapsack  was  so 
heavy  that  he  couldn't  pack  me  blankets;  so  I  thought  I'd 
carry  this  for  him  awhile;"  and,  amidst  a  half-suppressed 
snicker,  he  solemnly  drew  forth  from  his  capacious  pocket  a 
big  black  hymn-book,  substantially  German-looking,  about 
ten  inches  in  length  by  five  inches  across. 

"I'll  take  that  book,"  said  I,  looking  severe,  and  turning 
very  quickly  to  hide  my  face. 

After  this  Mohrman  seemed  to  have  more  peace ;  and  we 
journeyed  on  serenely  till  we  reached  Fort  Lyon,  Colorado, 
the  first  human  habitation  we  had  laid  eyes  on  for  many  weeks. 
Sterile  and  rock-strewn  as  the  country  is,  it  was  the  boast  of 
the  post  commander  that  he  had  as  fine  a  company-garden  as 
could  be  seen,  twenty  miles  away  from  here ;  to  which  his 
wife  added,  "the  only  pity  was  that  the  vegetables  should 
always  be  dry  and  wilted  before  they  reached  the  garrison." 

I  was  well  pleased  to  think  that  our  destination  lay  beyond 
Fort  Lyon ;  though  there  were  those  among  the  ladies  who  so 
dreaded  the  crossing  of  the  Arkansas  just  before  us,  and  the 
passage  of  the  Raton  Mountains  later,  that  they  would  have 
remained  here,  where  no  flower  could  be  coaxed  into  blossom, 
rather  than  have  gone  on.  The  Arkansas  river  was  to  be 
crossed  at  Bent's  old  fort,  where  the  overland  mail-stage  also 
had  its  crossing.  The  carriages  were  discreetly  sent  a  mile  or 
two  above  the  fording-place,  for  the  soldiers  —  poor  fellows 
—  had  to  swim  across,  their  clothes,  knapsack,  and  gu'n  in  one 
hand,  while  with  the  other  they  held  to  the  stout  ropes 
stretched  from  shore  to  shore.  Not  a  man  of  the  eight  hun- 


332  OVERLAND    TALES. 

dred  was  lost.  There  were  mounted  men  in  the  river,  ready 
to  lend  a  helping  hand  at  the  first  cry  for  aid,  and  they  all 
crossed  safely,  though  many,  I  dare  say,  in  fear  and  trem- 
bling. When  the  men  were  over,  the  married  officers  were 
permitted  to  join  the  ladies,  and  we  were  ferried  across  in  the 
skiff  belonging  to  the  stage  line,  for  which  little  water-excur- 
sion we  paid  two  dollars  a  head  to  the  Overland  Mail  Com- 
pany. Carriages  and  wagons  were  brought  over  by  the  wagon- 
master  and  teamsters ;  and  when  the  whole  train  was  on  the 
other  side,  we  thought  we  had  spent  rather  a  pleasant  day. 

Like  sailors  scanning  the  edge  of  the  horizon  for  land,  so 
the  soldiers  had  for  days  been  watching  the  nearer  approach 
of  the  Spanish  Peaks  looming  faintly  in  the  distance,  and 
breaking  the  grand  monotone  of  the  level,  changeless  plain, 
verging,  where  the  eye  could  see  no  further,  into  limitless 
space.  Those  who  had  been  out  this  way  before  commenced 
talking  of  the  "  Picketwire,"  and  the  beautiful  valleys  we 
should  see,  and  the  big  onions  the  Mexicans  would  bring  to 
the  camp  to  sell.  After  a  while  I  discovered  that  the  "Picket- 
wire  "  was  a  little  river  —  the  "  Purgatoir"  or  "Purgatory" 

—  along  whose  banks  the  Mexican  raised  vegetables  and  fruit, 
of  which  I  saw  specimens,  later,  in  the  big  onion  spoken  of. 
I  had  not  been  in  California  then,  and  the  onions  produced 
there,  of  the  size  of  a  large  saucer,  certainly  had  a  stunning 
effect  on  me. 

I  am  not  prepared  to  say  why  the  little  river  was  called 
Purgatory.  For  the  most  part  the  country  was  good  enough 

—  lovely,  even  ;    and  sometimes  grand.     One  or  two  days 
seemed  rather  purgatorial  though,  come  to  think  of  it.     On 
one  occasion  we  passed  through  steep,  barren  hills,  strewn  all 
over  with  little  cylindrical  pieces  of  iron,  that  looked  exactly 
as  though  they  had  been  melted  in  that  place  just  below  pur- 
gatory, and  thrown  up  here  to  cool.    Another  day  we  marched 
along  the  bed  of  a  river,  over  boulders  from  three  to  six  feet 


MA  R  CHIN  G    WI TH  A    COM  MA  ND.  333 

high;  if  we  did  not  think  it  purgatory,  the  horses  and  mules 
certainly  did.  But  the  worst  day  of  all  remained. 

It  broke  at  last  —  the  dreaded  day  in  which  the  Raton  Pass 
was  to  be  attempted.  The  horrors  of  the  Pass,  however, 
must  have  been  less  vivid  in  the  eyes  of  the  general  than  in 
the  minds  of  the  ladies  belonging  to  his  command;  for, 
contrary  to  all  hopes  and  expectations,  he  allowed  none  of 
the  married  officers  to  remain  with  the  carriages.  It  was  a 
"steep"  pass,  undeniably.  To  this  day  I  have  not  forgotten 
the  sound  of  the  grating  of  the  wheels  on  the  bare,  unmiti- 
gated rock,  as  the  carriage  made  ascents  and  descents  that 
were  truly  miraculous  —  one  wheel  pointing  heavenward 
sometimes,  while  the  other  three  were  wedged  in  below ; 
scraping  along  a  rock  wall,  bounding  from  rock  to  rock,  with 
the  pleasant  prospect,  on  the  other  side,  of  a  launch  from  a 
jagged,  well-deep  precipice,  into  eternity. 

The  crowning  point  to  our  terror,  and  to  the  grandeur  of 
the  scene,  was  a  fearfully  inclined  plane  of  solid  rock,  with 
a  frowning  bank  on  one  side,  a  gaping  drop-off  on  the  other, 
and  a  dark,  heavy  wall  rising  square  in  front  of  us ;  against 
which,  to  all  appearances,  the  mules  must  dash  their  brains 
out,  for  neither  bit  nor  brake  was  of  the  least  avail  on  this 
road.  Just  where  the  crash  against  the  wall  seemed  inevitable, 
there  was  a  narrow  curve,  and  the  road  ran  on  in  spite  of  the 
seeming  impossibility.  True  to  the  saying,  that  there  is  but 
a  step  from  the  sublime  to  the  ridiculous,  I  fell  to  laughing 
here,  so  that  Melville  turned  in  surprise  to  see  whether  fear 
and  terror  had  robbed  me  of  my  sober  senses  ;  but  I  had  seen 
in  passing,  painted  on  that  dreadful  wall  of  frowning  rock,  the 
cabalistic  words  and  signs:  "  Old  Cabin  Bitters ;  S  —  T  — 
1860  —  X  — ;"  and  below  this,  "Brandreth's  Vegetable 
Pills." 

These  horrors  past,  there  lay  before  us  valleys,  hills,  crags 
—  that  formed  as  picturesque  a  landscape  as  tourist's  eye  was 


334  OVERLAND    TALES. 

ever  gladdened  by.  At  the  foot  of  tall,  straight  pines,  crown- 
ing the  heights  and  covering  the  sloping  hill-sides,  was  a  carpet 
of  short,  soft  grass,  out  of  which  laughed  the  merriest  flower- 
eyes,  and  over  which  nodded  the  slenderest  stalks,  bearing 
blossoms  that  seemed  exotic  in  their  intensely  bright  hues. 
The  balm-laden  breath  of  the  wind  told  enticing  tales  of  the 
untrod  velvet  on  the  heights  above,  where  the  pine-trees  bent 
and  swayed  in  the  passing  breeze.  We  had  come  upon  this 
all  so  unexpectedly  that  the  lieutenant  insisted  on  my  mount- 
ing Toby  to  obtain  a  better  view  of  the  whole  country.  My 
saddle  was  in  the  wagon  somewhere,  and  there  was  no  time 
to  hunt  it  up ;  but  as  I  had  seen  Mrs.  Lane  start  off  on  the 
colonel's  horse  and  saddle  sometime  before,  I  clambered  on 
Toby's  back  at  once,  into  the  lieutenant's  saddle.  By  crossing 
some  little  low  hills,  which  the  command  had  to  march  around, 
I  found  myself  pretty  soon  ahead  of  the  train.  Not  aware 
that  we  were  to  pass  any  place  where  human  beings  dwelt,  I 
kept  bravely  on — feeling  all  the  more  safe  from  seeing  Captain 
Newbold's  cow,  with  her  guardian,  just  in  front  of  me.  When 
I  saw  a  rude  kind  of  gateway  a  little  later,  I  could  not  resist 
the  promptings  of  my  curiosity,  and  quite  forgot  the  com- 
mand, which  approached  just  then  with  beating  drums  and 
flying  colors.  Had  I  realized  how  near  they  were  upon  me, 
I  think  my  native  modesty  would  have  prompted  me  to  let 
General  Sykes,  with  his  command,  pass  in  front  of  me ;  but 
seeing  Captain  Newbold's  cow  march  through  the  gate,  and 
an  avenue  of  Mexican  and  Indian  faces,  I  followed  the  lead, 
barely  escaping  the  feet  of  the  drummer-boys,  who  were  close 
on  my  heels. 

It  was  the  residence  of  an  old  pioneer  —  old  Wooten  —  a 
pioneer  in  the  boldest  sense  of  the  word.  In  conversation 
with  one  of  the  officers,  when  Kit  Carson  was  mentioned,  he 
spoke  of  him  as  being  a  comparative  stranger  in  these  parts, 
having  been  in  the  country  only  some  twenty-five  or  thirty 
years. 


MA  R  CHIN  G    WI TH  A    CO  MM  A  ND.  335 

If,  in  the  eyes  of  the  straggling  Mexicans  gathered  around, 
it  was  an  honor  to  ride  in  front  of  the  command  —  next  after 
Captain  Newbold's  cow — that  honor,  and  the  privilege  of 
riding  in  the  lieutenant's  saddle,  was  dearly  paid  for  before 
night.  Determined  not  to  have  the  drummer-boys  so  close 
behind  me  again,  I  turned  aside  from  the  road,  lured  on  by 
the  magnificent  fresh,  soft  grass  before  me.  Toby  seemed 
strangely  averse  to  crushing  the  grass,  for  he  stepped  very 
gingerly,  and  made  two  or  three  attempts  to  turn  back.  Sky- 
gazing,  I  urged  him  on,  till  a  sudden  plunge  he  made  had 
nearly  thrown  me  out  of  the  slippery  saddle,  and  for  the  first 
time  I  saw  that  the  fresh,  treacherous  green  had  only  covered 
an  ugly  quagmire,  in  which  Toby  was  wildly  plunging  about, 
getting  in  deeper  at  every  fresh  effort  to  raise  himself.  The 
command  had  nearly  passed  ;  only  Colonel  Bankhead  lingered 
behind,  picking  the  rare  flowers  for  his  wife  —  gallant  man  ! 
—  and  my  wild  shouts  caused  him  to  look  around.  It  was  a 
slow  job  to  rescue  me;  and  by  the  time  I  was  on  dry  soil,  the 
colonel's  clothing  was  very  much  the  color  of  Toby's  legs  just 
then,  for  the  frightened  horse  would  not  move  a  step,  and 
Colonel  Bankhead  —  I  repeat  my  thanks  to  him  now  —  had 
made  his  way  into  the  horrible  bog  at  the  risk  of  his  life 
almost.  After  this  I  could  let  Toby  have  the  reins,  and  go 
anywhere  —  he  never  got  mired  again.  But  I  took  to  the 
carriage  that  day,  and  never  mounted  Toby  again  till  we 
reached  Fort  Union,  some  time  later. 

They  were  building  very  comfortable  quarters  at  Fort  Union 
when  we  got  in,  but  that  did  us  no  good.  General  Sykes  had 
his  camping-ground  assigned  by  General  Carleton  a  mile  or 
two  outside  the  post ;  and  our  place  was  with  the  Fifth  In- 
fantry, until  our  regiment  should  get  in.  Now  we  used  to 
strain  our  eyes  looking  for  signs  of  "our  regiment;"  not 
that  we  were  not  well  enough  off  where  we  were,  but  we  used 
to  congregate  at  the  tent  of  some  officer  of  the  Third,  and 


336  OVERLAND    TALES. 

feel  clannish,  and  speak  of  the  delight  we  should  feel  when 
"old  Howe"  got  in  with  the  regiment  —  all  out  of  sheer 
contrariness,  I  suppose. 

One  day  Melville  rushed  wildly  into  the  tent,  and  announced 
a  great  dust  arising  in  the  distance.  We  all  rushed  out,  and 
a  perfect  fever  took  possession  of  the  camp  —  cavalry  and 
infantry,  officers  and  men.  Tables  and  mess-chests  were 
brought  out  and  spread  ;  bottles  were  uncorked,  and  fruit-cans 
opened ;  dried-apple  pie  (a  great  luxury,  I  assure  you)  and 
salt  pickles,  raw  sliced  onions  and  raspberry  jelly,  were  joy- 
fully placed  side  by  side. 

Nearer  rolled  the  dust  —  slowly — slowly;  a  snail  might 
have  moved  faster,  I  thought,  than  this  regiment,  famed  once 
as  the  Rifles,  and  blessed  with  the  reputation  of  being  very 
unlike  a  snail  in  general  character.  Mrs.  Melville  needed  no 
stimulant  to  do  her  best ;  affection  and  ambition  prompted 
her  alike  —  she  had  served  with  the  Third  before,  and  was 
now  again  of  them  —  and  she  worked  like  a  beaver  to  have 
the  table  well  spread  for  the  expected  guests.  The  slow, 
heavy  tramp  of  the  approaching  troops  shook  the  earth  like 
far-off  thunder ;  but  the  dust  was  so  thick  that  it  was  hard  to 
tell  where  the  soldiers  left  off  and  the  wagons  commenced, 
while  the  train  moved.  At  last  there  came  the  sudden  clang- 
ing of  trumpets,  so  shrill  and  discordant  that  I  put  my  hands 
up  to  my  ears,  and  then  the  command  halted  near  our  camp. 

Let  no  one  dream  of  a  band  of  gay  cavaliers  riding  grandly 
into  the  garrison  on  prancing  steeds,  and  with  flying  banners  ! 
Alas,  for  romance  and  poetry  !  Gaunt,  ragged-looking  men, 
on  bony,  rough-coated  horses  —  sun-burned,  dust-covered, 
travel-worn,  man  and  beast.  Was  there  nothing  left  of  the 
old  material  of  the  dashing,  death-daring  Rifles  ?  Ah,  well ! 
These  men  had  seen  nothing  for  long  weeks  but  the  red,  sun- 
heated  soil  of  the  Red  River  country  ;  had  drank  nothing  but 
the  thick,  blood-red  water  of  the  river ;  had  eaten  nothing 


MARCHING    WITH  A    COMMAND.  337 

but  the  one  dry,  hard  cracker,  dealt  out  to  them  each  day ; 
for  they  had  been  led  wrong  by  the  guide,  had  been  lost,  so 
that  they  reached  Fort  Union  long  after,  instead  of  long 
before,  the  Fifth  Infantry. 

Their  camping-ground  was  assigned  them  quite  a  distance 
from  the  Fifth,  and  we  rode  over  the  next  day  to  visit  the 
ladies  who  had  come  with  the  command.  The  difference  be- 
tween the  two  camps  struck  me  all  the  more  forcibly,  I  pre- 
sume, because  General  Sykes  was  famed  for  the  order  and 
precision  he  enforced  ;  and  when  we  rode  up  to  his  tent  two 
days  later,  to  bid  him  good-bye  (the  officers  of  the  Third 
having  received  orders  to  join  their  regiment),  I  exclaimed, 
in  tones  of  mild  despair : 

"Oh,  general,  can  you  not  come  with  us,  and  take  com- 
mand of  the  Third?  " 

He  shook  his  head  solemnly,  looking  over  to  the  cavalry 
camp. 

"  Nothing  would  give  me  greater  pleasure,  madame,  than 
to  accede  to  your  wishes ;  but  really  in  this  instance  I  must  de- 
cline. There  are  too  many  unruly  horses  for  me  in  that  camp. ' ' 

I  hope  the  general  meant  only  what  he  said ;  I  hope  too 
the  Third  will  forgive  me,  when'l  say  that  an  old  soldier  in 
the  ranks,  a  German,  once  told  me  in  confidence  that  every 
member  of  that  regiment  could  pass  muster  for  the  Wild 
Huntsman,  so  well  known  in  the  annals  of  terror  in  German 
fable-history. 

II. 

IT  was  a  novel  court-martial,  whose  last  sitting  was  held  at 
the  dead  of  night,  between  Fort  Union  and  Los  Vegas,  in 
New  Mexico.  Let  no  one  think  that  a  love  of  the  romantic 
induced  the  general  commanding  to  order  this  assembling  at 
the  "witching  hour,  when  church-yards  yawn,"  but  dire  ne- 
cessity—  "the  exigencies  of  the  service,"  as  they  have  it. 
General  Sykes,  who  was  president  of  the  court,  was  under 
29  W 


338  OVERLAND    TALES. 

orders  to  take  up  the  line  of  march  with  his  infantry,  on  the 
day  following,  for  Fort  Sumner,  while  Colonel  Howe,  with 
five  companies  of  cavalry,  was  to  proceed  to  Fort  Craig ;  and 
as  General  Carleton  understood  no  joking  in  regard  to  orders 
once  issued,  and  as  the  board  had  not  been  able  to  finish  up 
the  business  brought  before  it  while  convened  at  Fort  Union, 
this  midnight  session  was  agreed  upon  —  the  command  to 
separate  and  march  in  opposite  directions,  as  soon  as  the 
court  adjourned. 

Of  the  prisoners  at  the  bar,  the  lieutenant  was  one,  though 
I  have  forgotten  for  what  heinous  crime  arraigned ;  doubtless 
the  charges  against  him  and  the  other  unfortunate  wights  were 
very  grave  and  serious  in  the  eyes  of  their  superior  officers, 
though  trivial  they  might  be  in  the  estimation  of  civilians. 
Just  as  the  gray  dawn  crept  up  the  horizon,  the  lieutenant 
entered  the  tent,  where  I  was  waiting,  fully  dressed  for  the 
march,  knowing  that  the  tents  would  be  struck  as  soon  as  the 
court  was  over. 

Slowly  the  long  train  arranged  itself,,  and  lumberingly  it 
wound  its  way  out  of  the  camp,  entered  only  at  a  late  hour 
the  evening  before.  The  blast  of  the  bugle  seemed  fairly  to 
cut  the  crisp  morning  air,  and  the  horses  neighed  and  stamped, 
while  here  and  there  a  mule  couple  —  part  of  the  six  attached 
to  each  wagon — would  begin  frisking  and  jumping,  till  called 
to  order  by  the  blacksnake  of  the  irritable  driver.  As  the 
lieutenant  was  under  arrest,  he  was  relieved  from  duty ;  and 
as  this  state  of  things  was  likely  to  continue  until  the  proceed- 
ings and  findings  of  the  court  had  been  sent  to  Washington 
and  returned,  we  set  out  with  the  intention  of  enjoying  the 
journey  as  well  as  was  possible  under  the  circumstances.  We 
were  expected  to  march  with  the  command,  but  in  the  rear 
of  the  cavalry,  and  preceding  the  army-wagons.  The  dust, 
however,  was  anything  but  pleasant  here,  and  as,  altogether, 
Uncle  Sam  holds  the  lines  of  government  somewhat  slacker 


MARCHING    WITH  A    COMMAND.  339 

in  these  frontier  countries,  the  lieutenant  was  allowed  to  take 
his  carriage,  the  orderly,  and  the  wagon  containing  our  tent 
and  camp  furniture,  to  the  end  of  the  entire  train.  In  this 
way  we  could  make  a  halt,  or  an  excursion  into  the  neighbor- 
ing country,  whenever  we  felt  inclined,  and  could  catch  up 
again  with  the  command  by  the  time  it  went  into  camp  — 
where  I  was  an  object  of  envy  to  the  other  ladies,  whose  hus- 
bands were  not  under  arrest. 

Toward  noon  we  reached  Los  Vegas,  the  first  Mexican 
town  I  had  seen  —  Fort  Union  being  but  the  entrance  to  New 
Mexico.  The  country  around  Los  Vegas  is  flat  and  uninter- 
esting, but  by  no  means  barren,  though  only  a  small  portion 
of  it  is  cultivated.  A  little  stream,  the  Gallinas,  runs  by  the 
place,  emptying  later  into  the  Rio  Pecos ;  but  the  Mexicans 
are  not  content  with  this  water-course  alone  —  they  have  dug 
irrigating  canals,  which  look  again  like  little  streams  where 
grass  and  wild  flowers  have  sprung  up  on  the  banks.  It  is 
the  only  branch  of  art  or  industry  cultivated  anywhere  in  New 
Mexico  —  this  digging  of  irrigating  ditches  —  and  in  it  the 
Mexicans  surely  excel.  Wherever  we  see  a  patch  of  green, 
we  may  be  certain  of  finding  canals  on  at  least  two  sides  of 
it ;  and  they  can  lead  the  water  where  a  Yankee,  with  all  his 
ingenuity,  would  despair  of  bringing  it. 

The  houses  of  Los  Vegas,  though  looking  very  much  so  to 
me  then,  are  not  so  hopelessly  Mexican  as  those  I  found  later 
along  the  Rio  Grande  and  farther  in  the  interior.  The  houses 
were  one  story  high,  the  roofs  of  mud,  of  which  material  were 
also  mantle-shelves,  window-sills,  walls  and  floors.  But  the 
little  enclosed  fire-places,  with  overarching  mantle,  were 
smooth  and  white,  as  were  the  walls;  and  the  more  preten- 
tious houses,  and  where  Americans  lived,  were  set  with  glass. 
In  the  houses  of  the  Mexicans  I  noticed  that  a  width  of  red 
or  yellow  calico  was  tacked  smoothly  up  around  the  wall,  at 
a  distance  of  three  or  four  feet  from  the  ground.  The  use  of 


34O  OVERLAND    TALES. 

this  drapery  is  just  as  incomprehensible  to  me  as  what  benefit 
the  trunks  derive  from  being  placed  on  two  chairs,  while  the 
members  of  the  family  and  visitors  are  requested  to  be  seated 
on  the  floor.  But  then  it  is  not  every  New  Mexican  family 
that  can  boast  of  having  a  trunk ;  and  those  who  have  one, 
and  no  chairs,  build  a  kind  of  platform  or  pedestal  for  it  to 
rest  on. 

The  troops,  while  we  were  sight-seeing  in  Los  Vegas,  were 
not  allowed  to  halt  at  all,  but  marched  on  toward  Puertocito, 
where  camp  was  made.  At  Fort  Union  a  new  driver  had 
been  assigned  to  our  baggage-wagon  —  a  little  monkey-faced 
old  man,  Manuel  —  who  had  addressed  me  in  Spanish,  early 
that  morning,  praying  that  we  should  allow  him  to  stop  at 
Los  Vegas,  where  his  wife  and  his  "pretty  little  girls"  were 
living.  I  understood  no  Spanish,  but  his  eyes  looked  so  be- 
seechingly when  his  request  was  made  known  to  me,  that  I 
was  glad  to  tell  him  we  should  stop  there.  The  man  was  to 
go  with  us  to  the  end  of  our  journey,  and  it  might  be  a  long 
time  till  he  could  see  his  people  again. 

When  the  lieutenant  sent  the  orderly  for  Manuel,  with 
directions  to  move  on  and  overtake  the  command,  I  saw  the 
old  man  tumbling  out  of  a  little  low  house  near  by,  his  faith- 
ful wife  and  "pretty  little  girls"  tumbling  out  after  him  — 
half  a  dozen  of  the  scrawniest,  most  apish-looking  specimens 
I  ever  saw  of  Spanish  or  Mexican  people.  For  miles  the 
"pretty  little  girls"  followed  the  father  and  the  army-wagon, 
and  wherever  we  passed  a  house  on  the  road,  one  or  more 
women  would  come  to  the  door  —  large-eyed  and  sweet- 
voiced —  wishing  good-day  and  good-journey  to  old  Manuel. 
As  far  as  my  Spanish  goes,  Puertocito  signifies  little  gate,  or 
entrance.  It  should  be  Grand  Gate,  so  majestically  do  rocks 
and  boulders  arise  from  out  of  green  meadows  and  tree- 
covered  hillocks. 

Large  flocks  of  sheep  are  herded  here,  and  the  whole  is 


MARCHING    WITH  A    COMMAND.  34! 

said  to  belong  to  a  Spanish  •  widow  lady,  living  either  in 
Mexico  or  Spain.  In  the  course  of  my  travels  through  the 
country,  I  met  with  accounts  of  this  or  some  other  widow, 
owning  fabulous  stretches  of  land,  mines,  and  treasures,  so 
often  that  I  came  to  regard  this  widow-institution  as  a  myth 
or  a  humbug ;  but  the  people  living  here  were  always  very 
earnest  in  their  assurances  to  the  contrary.  However  this 
might  be,  it  was  a  beautiful,  romantic  spot,  such  as  we  came 
upon  time  and  again  in  this  strange  country.  Well  do  I 
remember  the  succession  of  little  narrow  valleys  on  the  route 
between  Fort  Union  and  Santa  Fe ;  the  hard,  smooth  road, 
the  tall  gramma-grass  on  each  side  of  it,  and  the  shapely- 
grown  evergreens  bordering  the  lawn-like  fields,  till  lines  of 
taller  trees,  coming  up  close  to  the  road,  seemed  to  divide 
off  one  little  valley  from  the  other.  Yet  never  a  house  did 
we  see  the  whole  of  that  day,  though  the  garden  for  many  a 
one  seemed  ready  planted  by  kind  mother  Nature's  hands. 
The  land  was  but  a  desert,  in  spite  of  the  waving  grass  and 
the  dark  green  trees.  There  was  no  water  to  be  found  for 
long,  long  weary  miles. 

Before  we  had  been  long  on  our  journey,  an  unfortunate 
circumstance  brought  us  to  doubt  the  honesty  of  poor  old 
Manuel  so  seriously  that  it  had  almost  resulted  disastrously  to 
him.  We  had  made  camp  not  far  from  San  Jose,  a  place 
consisting  of  two  and  a  half  houses,  on  the  Pecos  river.  We 
were  to  cross  the  river  here ;  and  in  the  morning,  when  the 
tents  were  being  struck,  and  we  were  already  seated  in  the 
carriage,  waiting  for  the  mules  to  be  harnessed  to  it,  these 
same  mules  were  reported  missing.  The  command  moved 
on,  of  course,  leaving  our  baggage -wagon,  our  cook,  our 
orderly,  and  ourselves,  behind ;  the  old  colonel  chuckling  to 
himself  that  as  we  were  in  the  habit  of  looking  out  for  our- 
selves, we  might  do  so  on  this  occasion  too. 

The  mules  were  unharnessed  from  the  wagon  at  once, 
29* 


342  OVERLAND    TALES. 

Charley  mounted  on  one,  Pinkan  on  the  other,  Manuel  on 
the  third,  and  the  lieutenant  on  the  fourth,  all  starting  off  in 
different  directions  to  search  for  the  truants,  while  I  was  left 
in  charge  of  the  other  two  mules  and  the  rest  of  our  effects. 
A  long  time  passed  before  any  of  them  returned ;  and  when 
Charley  came  back,  soon  after  the  lieutenant,  he  said  he  had 
heard  from  a  Dutchman  in  San  Jose  that  two  mules  answering 
the  description  had  been  seen  driven  by  a  Mexican,  just  at 
daybreak,  over  the  bridge  near  the  town ;  and  the  supposition 
now  was  that  Manuel  had  sold  them  to  some  of  his  country- 
men, always  going  in  gangs  through  the  Territory.  Manuel 
soon  came  in,  without  the  mules.  When  the  lieutenant  told 
him  of  his  suspicions  his  face  fell ;  and  when  the  vague  threat 
of  summary  justice  to  be  executed  was  added,  his  shrivelled, 
monkeyish  face  grew  livid,  and  he  turned  to  me  trembling, 
and  begging,  for  the  sake  of  his  "pretty  little  girls,"  that  I 
should  intercede,  and  assure  the  lieutenant  that  indeed,  indeed, 
he  hadn't  stolen  the  mules.  I  felt  sorry  for  the  old  man; 
but  just  when  things  looked  darkest  for  him,  Pinkan  was  seen 
in  the  distance  driving  up  the  runaways. 

The  reaction  of  the  fright  experienced  by  old  Manuel  had 
the  effect  of  making  him  drunk  when  we  got  to  San  Jose 
(perhaps  the  aguardiente  imbibed  at  the  house  of  his  compadre 
had  something  to  do  with  it,  too);  and  just  as  I  was  making 
my  first  trial  of  chile-con-came  in  the  low  room  of  the  Mexican 
inn,  he  came  and  spread  before  me,  beside  the  fiery  dish 
which  had  already  drawn  tears  from  my  eyes,  papers  certify- 
ing that  he  had  rendered  good  services  as  teamster  in  the 
Mexican  war,  under  General  Zack  Taylor,  and  could  be 
trusted  by  Americans.  If  it  was  laughable  to  see  the  air  of 
pride  with  which  he  struck  his  breast,  declaring  in  Spanish 
that  he  was  "a  much  honorable  and  brave  man,"  there  was 
yet  a  touch  of  true  dignity  in  the  low  bow  he  made  while 
thanking  me  for  having  called  him  an  honest  man,  while  the 
vest  had  taken  him  for  a  horse-thief,  a  ladrone  and  ficaro, 


MARCHING    WITH  A    COMMAND.  343 

We  easily  caught  up  with  the  command  at  night,  and  laid 
our  plans  while  in  camp  for  the  next  few  days  to  come.  The 
troops  were  not  to  pass  through  Santa  Fe,  and,  though  we 
could  have  made  the  detour  without  the  colonel's  knowledge, 
it  was  not  safe  to  run  into  the  very  jaws  of  danger,  as  General 
Carleton's  headquarters  were  at  Fort  Marcy,  and  he  had 
probably  returned  to  Santa  Fe  from  Fort  Union  long  before 
this  time,  travelling  with  only  an  escort  and  the  best  mules 
in  the  department.  We  had  letters  to  Doctor  Steck,  "  run- 
ning "  a  gold-mine  about  thirty  miles  from  Santa  Fe ;  and  as 
the  command  passed  near  by,  we  started  off  into  the  moun- 
tains where  the  mine  lay.  Wild  and  rugged  as  the  scenery 
was,  it  was  not  so  dreary  as  I  had  always  fancied  every  part 
of  the  Territory  must  be.  In  some  places  it  seemed  as  if  man 
had  done  a  great  deal  to  make  the  face  of  nature  hideous. 
Great  unseemly  holes  were  dug  here,  there,  and  everywhere  — 
the  red,  staring  earth  thrown  up,  and  then  left  in  disgust  at 
not  finding  the  treasures  looked  for.  The  company  of  which 
Doctor  Steck  was  superintendent  seemed  to  have  found  the 
treasures,  however,  for  in  their  mill  half  a  dozen  stamps  were 
viciously  crushing  and  crunching  the  rock  brought  down 
from  the  mountains  above  on  mule-back. 

The  doctor  is  a  Pennsylvanian,  and  he  tried  to  have  his 
ranch  look  as  much  as  possible  like  a  Pennsylvania  homestead. 
There  were  necessarily  slight  deviations,  more  particularly  in 
the  furniture  of  the  dwelling-house,  which  here  consisted 
mainly  of  double-barrelled  shot-guns  and  repeating  rifles. 
These  were  merely  a  set-off,  I  presume,  to  the  chunks  of  gold 
he  showed  us  (the  size  of  a  fist),  each  being  a  week's  "clean- 
up." There  was  quicksilver  used  in  gaining  the  gold  (what 
I  know  about  gaining  gold  is  very  little),  and  the  doctor 
turned  a  stream  of  water  on  the  plates  under  the  crushers, 
and  then  scraped  up  the  gold  for  me  to  look  at. 

I  did  not  learn  till  months  later  —  though  I  readily  be- 


344  OVERLAND    TALES. 

lieved  it  —  that  this  man  could  travel  alone  and  unarmed 
through  the  midst  of  the  Apache  country ;  and  did  he  ever 
miss  his  road  or  want  assistance,  he  had  but  to  make  a  signal 
of  distress,  when  the  savages  would  fly  to  him  from  their 
lurking-places,  shelter  him,  and  guide  him  safely  back  to  his 
white  brethren.  This  I  learned  first  from  an  old  Mexican 
guide  at  our  camp,  who  said  that  the  Indians  stood  in  awe 
of  him  as  a  great  medicine-man,  and  loved  him  for  his  uni- 
form kindness  to  them. 

Santa  Fe  Mountain  behind  us,  there  were  no  more  hills 
save  the  sand-hills,  that  seem  shifting  and  changing  from  day 
to  day,  so  that  very  often  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  Rio 
Grande,  the  river  itself  is  followed  as  a  landmark,  the  land 
being  more  unreliable  than  the  water.  The  big  sand-hill 
opposite  Albuquerque,  however,  seems  to  be  stationary; 
people  who  had  been  here  twenty  years  before  remembered 
the  location. 

There  is  something  singular  about  these  Mexican  towns  or 
cities.  You  hear  them  spoken  of  as  important  places,  where 
the  law-givers  and  the  dignitaries  of  the  American  regime 
reside,  and  where  renowned  families  of  the  Spanish  period 
had  their  homes ;  where  large  commercial  interests  lie,  and 
where  things  flourish  generally.  When  you  approach  them, 
a  collection  of  what  seem  only  mud  hovels  lie  scattered  before 
you.  You  look  for  order  and  regularity  of  streets,  and  you  find 
yourself  running  up  against  square  mud-piles  at  every  other 
step ;  you  look  for  doors  and  windows  in  these  structures,  and 
find  a  narrow  opening,  reaching  to  the  ground,  on  one  side, 
and  high  up  in  the  wall  a  little  square  hole  without  glass  or 
shutter.  This  is  the  first  impression.  But  you  are  compelled 
to  remain  at  such  a  place  ;  and  as  the  eye  grows  to  shrink  less 
from  the  sight  of  the  hard  clay  and  cheerless  sand,  you  dis- 
cover the  tips  of  the  pomegranate  tree  peering  curiously  over 
the  high  mud  wall  enclosing  a  neat  adobe  with  well-cultivated 


MARCHING    WITH  A    COMMAND.  345 

garden.  In  astonishment  you  press  your  face  to  the  railing 
of  the  rude  gate,  and  directly  the  soft  voice  of  a  dark-faced 
woman  calls  to  you  from  within :  "Enter,  senora ;  you  are 
welcome!  " 

When  you  leave  the  garden,  where  peaches,  grapes,  and 
pomegranates  have  been  showered  on  you,  together  with 
assurances  of  the  kindest  feelings  on  the  part  of  your  hostess, 
the  whole  place  somehow  looks  different.  There  are  streets 
and  lanes  which  you  did  not  notice  before,  where  the  broad, 
double  doors  of  the  houses  stand  hospitably  open,  and  the 
large  square  windows,  if  not  provided  with  sash  and  glass,  are 
latticed  in  fanciful  designs,  as  we  see  them  in  old  Spanish  and 
Italian  paintings.  And  there  is  such  a  dreamy  languor  in  the 
air ;  such  a  soft  tint  in  the  blue  of  the  heavens ;  such  a  wooing, 
balmy  breeze,  that  seems  to  float  down  from  the  mountain 
yonder.  There  is  no  necessity  for  keeping  one's  eyes  fixed 
on  the  sand-hill  that  hid  Albuquerque  from  us  at  first.  Look 
over  again  to  the  mountain.  Could  artist  with  brush  and 
pencil  create  anything  more  perfect  than  the  gentle  rise  away 
off  there,  over  which  houses  and  vineyards  are  scattered,  and 
which  climbs  up  steeper  and  higher,  till  the  faintest  shadow 
-of  a  passing  cloud  seems  resting  on  the  blue-green  peak  ? 
And  winding  its  way  slowly  from  the  foot  of  the  mountain, 
comes  a  train  of  black-eyed,  barefooted  Pueblo  Indian  women, 
bearing  on  their  heads  home-made  baskets  filled  to  overflow- 
ing with  well-displayed  fruit  —  melons,  peaches,  grapes  —  in 
such  perfection,  and  with  such  rich,  ripe  coloring,  as  are 
seldom  found  away  from  Mexico. 

Of  historical  interest,  too,  there  is  much  in  Albuquerque. 
The  daughter  of  a  Spanish  lady  belonging  to  the  old  family 
of  the  Bacas,  was  married  to  an  officer  in  our  army,  and  with 
her  I  visited  the  house  of  General  Armijo.  The  younger 
daughters  alone  .received  us,  the  older  married  sister  being 
sick  or  absent.  The  house  was  furnished  with  elegant  mate- 


346  OVERLA  ND    TALES. 

rial  —  the  heavy  Brussels  carpet  spread  out  on  the  mud  floor, 
flowers  and  figures  running  up  and  down,  just  as  the  carpet 
had  been  cut  off  at  the  length  of  the  room,  and  then  rolled 
back  again  and  cut  off  at  the  other  end.  The  breadths  were 
laid  side  by  side,  but  not  a  stitch  had  been  taken  to  hold 
them  together.  Cushioned  chairs  were  ranged  along  the 
walls  of  the  room,  the  line  broken  only  where  marble-top 
tables,  what-nots,  and  a  Chickering  piano  were  introduced 
among  them  —  all  set  against  the  wall  without  symmetry  or 
taste.  On  the  walls  hung  pictures,  in  embroidery,  water- 
colors,  and  oil,  executed  by  the  young  ladies  while  in  a  con- 
vent school ;  but  in  vain  I  looked  for  a  picture  of  General 
Armijo  among  them.  It  was  here  at  Albuquerque  that  I  saw 
for  the  first  time  —  and  alas!  the  last  —  Kit  Carson,  and  the 
less  renowned  but  equally  brave  Colonel  Pfeiffer. 

Beyond  Albuquerque  the  road  lies  again  over  the  sand-hills 
and  through  the  valleys  of  the  Rio  Grande ;  and  we  lost  our 
way  among  the  hills  one  day,  when  the  command  had  passed 
but  a  short  distance  in  advance  of  us.  For  hours  we  toiled 
through  the  shifting  sand,  hoping  that  each  mound  we  climbed 
might  bring  the  marching  column  to  our  view.  Fortunately, 
Manuel,  with  the  wagon,  had  fallen  in  line  with  the  train  that 
morning,  and  only  Pinkan,  riding  the  lieutenant's  horse  and 
leading  mine,  was  with  us.  The  lieutenant  was  driving,  and 
I  could  see  from  the  way  his  eyes  wandered  over  the  inter- 
minable range  of  low  sand-hills  that  he  was  completely  be- 
wildered. All  at  once  we  came  on  a  house,  which,  from  a 
distance,  we  had  taken  to  be  another  sand-pile ;  and  the  Mex- 
icans living  here,  after  treating  us  to  the  best  their  house 
afforded  —  eggs,  and  the  sweet,  unsalted  goat-milk  cheese  — 
piloted  us  to  Los  Pinos,  where  we  were  to  camp  for  the  night. 
Here  the  command  crossed  the  Rio  Grande  —  forded  it,  bag 
and  baggage  —  and  the  next  day  remained  in  camp  below 
Peralta,  where  the  tents  were  pitched  in  a  delightful  grove  of 
cottonwood  trees. 


MA  J?  CHIN  G    WI TH  A    CO  MM  A  ND.  347 

It  has  been  said  that  a  Mexican  is  born  with  a  lasso  in  his 
hand.  The  feat  old  Manuel  performed  with  his  was  quite 
new  to  me.  Wood  was  so  scarce  that  not  the  smallest  bit  of 
a  dry  limb  or  broken  twig  could  be  found  under  the  trees. 
The  lower  branches  having  been  lopped  off,  and  the  soldiers 
forbidden  to  cut  down  any  trees,  our  old  Mexican  at  once 
went  to  work  with  his  rope,  throwing  it  so  dexterously  over 
the  brittle  limbs  that  a  snap  and  a  crash  followed  every  ex- 
cursion of  the  rope. 

We  made  a  flying  trip  to  Peralta  the  next  morning,  while 
the  command  was  marching  in  the  opposite  direction.  The 
place,  with  its  pretty  church  ancj  scattered  houses,  surrounded 
by  walled-in  gardens,  made  quite  a  pleasing  impression.  Then 
we  turned  back  and  joined  the  command. 

The  road  now  was  one  continuous  level,  with  hills,  uni- 
formly bare  and  brown,  in  the  distance.  Bare  and  brown  as 
they  look,  thousands  of.  goats  are  herded  on  them,  and,  to 
judge  from  the  milk  and  cheese  we  got  on  the  road,  find 
pretty  good  picking  till  such  time  as  "Lo!  the  poor  Indians" 
think  proper  to  drive  off  the  herds  for  their  own  use,  when 
they  are  in  most  cases  generous  enough  to  leave  the  herders 
behind  —  dead.  And  the  sun,  smiling  down  so  placidly  on 
the  river  and  the  little  towns  lying  near  its  banks,  seems  never 
to  heed  the  death-cry  of  the  helpless  peon  or  the  lonely  way- 
farer laid  low  in  the  dust  by  the  prowling  savage,  but  goes  on 
lighting  up  the  cloudless  sky-dome,  and  bringing  into  strong 
relief  the  different  features  of  scenery,  life,  and  customs,  that 
make  a  journey  through  New  Mexico  resemble  a  sojourn  in 
the  Holy  Land.  Through  all  those  towns  along  the  Rio 
Grande  do  we  see  the  daughters  of  the  land,  barefooted,  their 
faces  half  hidden  by  the  oriental-looking  rebozo,  the  earthen 
olla  poised  gracefully  on  the  head,  going  at  eventide  to  the 
well  for  water.  Belen,  Sabinal,  Polvedaro  —  here  are  the 
low-built  houses,  the  flat  roofs,  the  gray-green  olive  here  and 


348  OVERLAND    TALES. 

there  ;  even  the  wheaten  cake,  the  tortilla,  is  set  before  the 
stranger  when  he  comes.  Then  this  dead,  dead  silence! 
The  barking  of  the  dogs  as  we  come  through  the  villages,  the 
drawling  sing-song  of  the  children,  calling  to  each  other  at 
the  unusual  spectacle  we  present,  seem  hardly  to  break  the 
slumber  of  the  mid-day  air. 

So  wearying  as  the  one  color  —  clay  —  grows  to  the  eye  ! 
the  ground,  the  houses,  the  fence-walls,  the  bake-ovens,  all,  all 
the  same  color.  Even  where  there  are  gardens,  with  the  en- 
closing wall  seems  to  terminate  vegetation  ;  never  a  vagabond 
grass-blade  or  a  straggling  vine  can  find  its  way  outside.  Bake- 
ovens  are  an  institution  and  a  marked  feature  in  the  land- 
scape ;  every  house  has  one,  and  as  they  are  built  with  a 
dome-like  top,  they  are  more  pleasing  to  the  eye  than  the 
houses,  and  very  often  nearly  as  large.  I  remember  seeing 
one  day  a  dog  and  a  little  naked  child  (clothing  is  considered 
superfluous  on  children)  mount  from  the  mud  fence  to  the  top 
of  the  bake-oven,  and  from  there  to  the  house  roof,  with  no 
more  difficulty  than  we  would  experience  in  going  up  a  flight 
of  easy  stairs.  The  bread  that  the  Mexicans  bake  in  these 
ovens  is  the  sweetest  and  whitest  that  can  be  found. 

Then  came  Socarro,  where  most  of  the  officers  spent  the 
day,  while  the  command  went  into  camp  some  miles  below. 
An  English  family  kept  a  very  pleasant  house  there,  whose 
good  cheer  the  old  colonel  had  not  forgotten  from  long  ago. 
The  garden  back  of  the  neatly-built  house  I  thought  one  of 
the  loveliest  spots  on  earth ;  not  from  the  fact  alone  that  it 
contained  flowers  and  some  few  tall  trees,  but  from  the  view 
it  afforded  of  the  far-off  mountain  —  probably  of  the  Sierra 
Maddalena  chain,  but  called  Socarro  Mountain  here.  There 
was  the  same  dreamy  haze  that  hung  over  the  mountain  near 
Albuquerque,  and  the  same  bluish-green  tint  that  made  it  ap- 
pear wooded  to  the  top.  A  hot  spring  takes  its  rise  in  the 
mountain  somewhere,  and  the  tiny  stream  at  my  feet  seemed 


MA  R  CHING    WI TH  AGO  MM  A  ND.  349 

hardly  cold  yet,  though  its  waters  had  travelled  many  miles 
from  its  source. 

Fort  Craig,  though  an  important  military  post,  is  not  cele- 
brated for  the  beauties  or  grandeur  of  the  country  surround- 
ing. We  crossed  the  Rio  Grande  here  again  —  two  com- 
panies only,  the  colonel,  with  the  other  three,  having  been 
assigned  to  Fort  Craig.  Toward  the  Jornada  del  Muerto  we 
journeyed,  making  camp  before  entering  the  desert  at  Parajo, 
the  Fra  Cristobal  of  the  Texan  Santa  Fe  prisoners  who  were 
driven  through  here  in  1842,  on  their  long,  weary  journey  to 
the  city  of  Mexico.  They  had  been  captured,  or  rather 
tricked  into  a  surrender,  near  Anton  Chico,  and,  from  Albu- 
querque down,  I  traced  them  all  along  the  Rio  Grande.  They 
had  been  marched  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  river,  taking  in 
their  way  Sandia,  Valencia,  Tome,  Casa  Colorada,  and  La 
Joya,  crossing  the  river  at  Socarro,  and  recrossing  probably 
near  where  Fort  Craig  now  stands. 

Such  heart-rending  tales  as  were  told  us  of  the  sufferings 
and  the  diabolical  treatment  of  these  helpless  men  —  mere 
youths,  some  of  them,  the  sight  of  whom  brought  out  all  the 
native  tenderness,  the  true  charity  there  is  in  the  heart  of 
every  Mexican  woman  !  As  in  Albuquerque,  the  shadow  of 
Governor  Armijo  —  tall  and  stately,  though  with  something 
of  a  braggart  in  his  carriage,  and  the  glare  of  a  hyena  in  his 
eye — was  ever  rising  before  me,  so  in  this  wretched  place  did 
I  seem  always  to  hear  the  gentle,  pitying  "  Pobrecitos  !  "  of 
the  kind-hearted  women,  who  brought  the  last  bit  of  tornale, 
the  last  scrap  of  tortilla  that  their  miserable  homes  afforded, 
to  these  men  who  were  so  soon  to  be  driven  like  cattle,  and 
shot  down  like  dogs,  when  their  bleeding  feet  refused  to  carry 
them  further  on  their  thorny  path.  Had  the  horrible  stretch 
of  ninety-five  miles  of  desert-land  now  before  us  not  been 
christened  "Dead  Man's  Journey"  before  these  unfortunates 
passed  over  it,  the  baptism  of  the  blood  of  those  wantonly 
30 


35O  OVERLAND    TALES. 

slaughtered  there  would  have  fastened  on  it  that  name  for- 
ever. 

Two  companies  of  United  States  cavalry  are  not  hastily 
attacked  by  ye  noble  red  man,  and  we  slept  peacefully  on  the 
"Jornada  —  though  close  to  our  tent,  the  first  night,  were  two 
graves,  dug  for  their  murdered  comrades  years  ago  by  some 
of  the  men  now  in  the  company. 

A  number  of  wagons  had  been  loaded  with  water-casks, 
filled  before  entering  the  Jornada,  so  that  we  did  not  suffer ; 
yet  we  were  all  glad  when,  on  the  third  day,  Fort  Seldon  was 
reached.  After  a  rest  of  two  days,  we  once  more  crossed  the 
river,  on  a  ferry-boat  moved  with  a  rope,  leaving  the  other 
company  at  Fort  Seldon,  and  proceeding  alone,  with  the  last 
company,  to  the  farthest  out-post  of  the  department.  At 
this  place  we  disposed  of  our  carriage  to  the  post  surgeon,  as 
we  were  told  that  among  the  mountains  in  the  vicinity  of 
Pinos  Altos  we  should  have  no  use  for  it,  while  the  officers 
of  this  garrison  could  make  excursions  to  Donna  Ana,  Los 
Cruces,  and  even  La  Messilla,  over  the  level  and  rather  pleas- 
ant country. 

The  first  day  out,  a  heavy  rain-storm  came  on,  and  I  was 
glad  enough  to  leave  the  saddle  and  seek  shelter  in  the  linen- 
covered  army-wagon,  where  Manuel  arranged  quite  a  comfort- 
able bed  for  me  —  seat  it  could  not  be  called.  And  here  let 
me  say  that,  with  bedding  and  blankets,  spread  over  boxes 
and  bundles  underneath,  there  is  more  comfort  to  be  found 
in  one  of  these  big  wagons,  where  you  can  recline  at  full 
length,  than  in  the  most  elegant  travelling-carriage,  where 
you  have  always  to  maintain  the  same  position. 

The  stretch  between  Fort  Seldon  and  Fort  Cummings 
proved  harder  for  us  than  the  Jornada  del  Muerto.  It  was 
reported  that  large  bands  of  Indians  were  hovering  round  us, 
and  we  could  make  no  fires  to  cook  by,  but  were  hurried  on 
as  fast  as  possible.  Many  of  the  horses  gave  out  and  had  to 


MARCHING   WITH  A   COMMAND.  351 

be  shot ;  and  my  poor  Toby  was  sometimes  so  tired  from  car- 
rying me  over  the  rough  country,  and  up  and  down  the  rocky 
hills,  that  more  then  once  he  stopped  and  nibbled  at  my 
stirrup-foot — asking  me  in  this  peculiar  language  to  dismount. 

The  soldiers  were  better  off  than  we  were,  for  they  had 
their  rations  of  hard-tack  and  salt  bacon,  which  needed  no 
cooking;  while  the  dressed  chickens  and  tender-steaks  we 
had  providently  brought  from  Fort  Seldon  with  us,  uncooked, 
were  going  to  decay  in  the  provision-box,  and  we  might  have 
gone  hungry  had  not  the  men  divided  with  us.  No  one  can 
think  how  sweet  a  bit  of  bacon  tastes  with  a  piece  of  hard- 
tack, when  offered  by  a  soldier  whose  eyes  are  shining  with 
honest  delight  at  being  able  to  repay  some  trifling  kindness 
shown  him  on  the  march. 

The  rock-strewn  mountains  of  Cook's  canon  frowned 
darkly  on  us  as  we  made  our  way  into  Fort  Cummings.  The 
sable  garrison,  it  is  said,  never  ventured  beyond  the  high 
mud  walls  with  less  than  twenty-five  in  the  party,  were  it  only 
to  bring  a  load  of  wood  from  the  nearest  grove  of  scanty 
timber. 

At  no  post,  I  am  fain  to  confess,  have  I  seen  a  larger 
number  of  mementos  of  Indian  hostility  than  at  this  fort. 
And  the  negroes  had  all  the  more  cause  to  dread  attacks  from 
the  Indians,  as  they  had  been  accosted  the  first  time  they 
went  out — a  fatigue-party,  to  cut  wood — by  an  Indian  chief, 
who  told  them  that  he  was  their  brother,  and  that  it  was  their 
duty  to  come  and  join  his  band  against  their  common  enemy, 
the  white  man.  The  black  braves  refused,  returning  to  the 
post  without  their  load  of  wood ;  and  since  that  time  no 
fatigue-party  ever  returned  that  did  not  bring  back  at  least 
one  of  their  number  dead  or  wounded. 

The  last  thing  we  did  before  leaving  this  post  was  to  stop 
at  the  large  basin  of  water,  Cook's  Spring,  there  to  drink,  and 
let  the  animals  drink,  a  last  draught  of  the  pure,  clear  flood. 


352  OVERLAND    TALES. 

How  many  a  heart  had  this  spring  gladdened,  when  its  sight 
broke  on  the  longing  eyes  of  the  emigrant,  before  human  hab- 
itations were  ever  to  be  found  here  !  Just  at  the  foot  of  the 
rough,  endless  mountain,  the  men  who  had  come  under  pro- 
tection of  our  train  from  Fort  Cummings  pointed  out  where 
the  two  mail-riders  coming  from  Camp  Bayard  —  our  destina- 
tion —  had  been  ambushed  and  killed  by  the  Indians  only  the 
week  before.  I  had  heard  of  these  two  men  while  at  the 
Fort,  one  of  whom,  a  young  man  hardly  twenty,  seemed  to 
have  an  unusually  large  number  of  friends  among  men  of  all 
classes  and  grades.  When  smoking  his  farewell  pipe  before 
mounting  his  mule  for  the  trip  to  Camp  Bayard,  he  said : 
"  Boys,  this  is  my  last  trip.  Mother  writes  that  she  is  getting 
old  and  feeble ;  she  wants  me  to  come  home ;  so  I  've  thrown 
up  my  contract  with  Uncle  Sam,  and  I  'm  going  back  to 
Booneville  just  as  straight  as  God  will  let  me,  when  I  get  back 
from  Bayard.  It 's  hard  work  and  small  pay,  anyhow  —  sixty 
dollars  a  month,  and  your  scalp  at  the  mercy  of  the  red  devils 
every  time  you  come  out."  The  letter  was  found  in  the  boy's 
pocket  when  the -mutilated  body  was  brought  in. 

It  was  no  idle  fancy  when  I  thought  I  could  see  the  ground 
torn  up  in  one  place  as  from  the  sudden  striking  out  of  horses' 
hoofs.  One  of  the  men  confirmed  the  idea  that  it  was  not 
far  from  the  place  where  the  body  had  been  found.  The 
mule  had  probably  taken  the  first  fright  just  there,  where  the 
rider  had  evidently  received  the  first  arrow,  aimed  with  such 
deadly  skill  that  he  fell  in  less  than  two  minutes  after  it 
struck  him. 

This  gloomy  spot  passed,  the  country  opened  far  and  wide 
before  us;  level  and  rather  monotonous,  but  with  nothing  of 
the  parched,  sterile  appearance  that  makes  New  Mexico  so 
dreaded  by  most  people.  Trees  were  few  and  far  between ; 
but  later,  where  the  Mimbres  river  rolls  its  placid  waters  by, 
there  are  willows,  and  ash  even,  as  I  have  heard  people  affirm. 


MA  R  C  HIN  G    WI TH  A    COM  MA  ND.  353 

But  I  must  not  forget  the  hot  spring  we  camped  by  for  an 
hour  or  two,  the  Aqua  Calicnte  of  the  Mexicans.  A  square 
pond,  to  approach  which  you  must  clamber  up  a  natural  mud 
wall  some  two  feet  high,  lay  bubbling  and  steaming  near  the 
shade  of  some  half  dozen  wide-spreading  trees.  That  corner 
of  the  pond  where  the  water  boils  out  of  the  earth  had  once 
been  tapped,  apparently,  and  the  water  led  to  the  primitive 
bath-tubs,  made  by  digging  down  into  the  hard,  clayey 
ground.  A  dismantled  building  showed  that  the  place  had 
at  some  time  been  permanently  occupied,  which  was  said  to 
be  the  case  by  the  Mexican  family  living  under  one  of  the 
trees,  and  who  were  sojourning  here  for  the  purpose  of  having 
life  restored  to  the  paralyzed  limbs  of  one  of  the  children. 
The  people  who  had  lived  here  were  driven  off  by  Indians, 
but  I  have  heard  since  that  the  place  had  been  rebuilt. 

The  second  day  after  leaving  Fort  Cummings  we  came  in 
sight  of  a  lovely  valley,  enclosed  on  all  sides  by  low  wooded 
hills,  with  bold,  picturesque  mountains  rising  to  the  sky  be- 
yond. A  clear  brook — so  clear  that  it  was  rightly  baptized 
Minne-ha-ha  —  gambolled  and  leaped  and  flashed  among  the 
green  trees  and  the  white  tents  they  overhung ;  and  in  their 
midst  a  flag-staff,  at  whose  head  the  stars  and  stripes  were 
flying,  told  me  that  we  had  reached  our  journey's  end. 
30*  X 


TO   TEXAS,  AND  BY  THE  WAY. 

1HAD  not  seen  New  Orleans  since  I  was  eight  years  of  age, 
and  to  Texas  I  had  never  been ;  so  I  was  well  pleased 
with  the  prospect  of  visiting  the  southern  country.  To 
one  coming  direct  from  California,  overland  by  rail,  it  seems 
like  entering  a  different  world  —  a  world  that  has  been  lying 
asleep  for  half  a  century  —  when 'the  great  "pan-handle" 
route  is  left  to  one  side,  and  Louisville  once  passed.  Though 
we  know  that  the  country  was  not  asleep  —  only  held  in 
fetters  by  the  hideous  nightmare,  Civil  War  —  I  doubt  if  the 
general  condition  of  things  would  have  been  in  a  more  ad- 
vanced state  of  prosperity  if  the  old  order  of  affairs  had 
remained  unchanged,  as  the  march  of  improvement  seems 
naturally  to  lag  in  these  languid,  dreamy-looking  southern 
lands. 

The  line  between  the  North  and  the  South  seems  very 
sharply  drawn  in  more  respects  than  one.  We  were  scarcely 
well  out  of  Louisville  before  delays  and  stoppages  commenced ; 
and  though  the  country  was  pleasant  enough  to  look  at  in  the 
bright,  fall  days,  it  was  not  necessary  to  stop  from  noon  till 
nightfall  in  one  place,  to  fully  enjoy  the  pleasure.  Another 
drawback  to  this  pleasure  was  the  reliance  we  had  placed  on 
the  statement  of  the  railroad  agent,  who  told  us  it  was  quite 
unnecessary  to  carry  a  lunch-basket  "  on  this  route."  Since 
we  had  found  a  lunch-basket,  if  not  really  cumbersome,  at 
least  not  at  all  indispensable,  from  Sacramento  to  Omaha, 
we  saw  no  reason  why  we  should  drag  it  with  us  through  a 
civilized  country,  and  consequently  suffered  the  penalty  of 

354 


TO    TEXAS,  AND  BY  THE    WAY.  355 

believing  what  a  railroad  ticket-agent  said.  In  another  sec- 
tion of  the  same  sleeping-car  with  us  was  a  party  who  had 
been  wiser  than  we,  and  had  brought  loads  of  provisions  with 
them.  No  wonder :  they  were  Southerners,  and  had  learned 
not  to  depend  on  the  infallibility  of  their  peculiar  institutions. 

The  head  of  the  party  was  a  little  lady  of  twenty-five  or 
thirty  years,  with  pale,  colorless  face,  and  perfectly  bloodless 
lips.  I  should  have  gone  into  all  sorts  of  wild  speculations 
about  her  —  should  have  fancied  how  a  sudden,  dread  fright 
had  chased  all  the  rosy  tints  from  her  lips  back  to  her  heart, 
during  some  terrible  incident  of  the  war ;  or  how  the  news, 
too  rashly  told,  of  some  near,  dear  friend  stricken  down  by 
the  fatal  bullet,  had  curdled  the  red  blood  in  her  veins,  and 
turned  it  to  ice  before  it  reached  her  cheeks  —  had  she  not 
been  so  vigorous  and  incessant  a  scold.  Now  it  was  the 
French  waiting-maid  to  whom  she  administered  a  long,  bitter 
string  of  cutting  rebukes,  while  the  unfortunate  girl  was 
lacing  up  my  lady's  boots;  next  it  was  her  younger  sister  — 
whom  she  was  evidently  bringing  home  from  school — whose 
lips  she  made  to  quiver  with  her  sharp  words;  and  then,  for 
a  change,  the  mulatto  servant  was  summoned,  by  the  well- 
scolded  waiting-maid,  to  receive  his  portion  of  the  sweets 
meted  out.  An  ugly  thing  she  was,  and  so  different  from  the 
Southern  lady  I  had  met  in  the  hotel  at  Louisville  —  one  of 
the  most  beautiful  women  I  have  ever  seen  —  whose  grace 
nothing  could  exceed  as  she  handed  me  a  basket  of  fruit 
across  the  table,  when  one  glance  had  told  her  that  I  was  a 
stranger  and  tired  out  with  the  heat  and  travel. 

But,  in  spite  of  what  I  have  said,  I  must  confess  that  I 
accepted  the  sandwiches  the  little  scold  sent  us,  for  the  supper- 
station  was  not  reached  till  eleven  o'clock  at  night.  As  the 
conductor  promised  us  another  good,  long  rest  here,  the 
gentlemen  left  the  ladies  in  the  cars,  and  returned  after  some 
time,  followed  by  a  number  of  negroes,  who  carried  a  variety 


356  OVERLAND    TALES. 

of  provisions  and  divers  cups  of  coffee.  I  thought,  of  course, 
that  it  was  luncheon  brought  from  some  house  established  at 
the  station  for  that  purpose ;  but  was  told  that  the  chicken 
the  mulatto  boy  was  spreading  before  us  had  been  abstracted 
from  his  massa's  hen-yard,  and  that  the  eggs  the  old  negro 
was  selling  us  had  not  by  any  means  grown  in  his  garden. 
Only  the  coffee,  which  was  sold  at  twenty-five  cents  a  cup, 
was  a  legitimate  speculation  on  the  part  of  some  white  man 
(I  am  sure  his  forefathers  were  from  the  State  of  Maine),  who 
went  shares  with  the  negro  peddling  it,  and  charged  him  a 
dollar  for  every  cup  that  was  broken  or  carried  off  on  the 
cars,  which  accounted  for  the  sable  Argus'  reluctance  to 
leave  our  party  till  we  had  all  swallowed  the  black  decoction 
and  returned  the  cups. 

We  were  to  take  dinner  at  Holly  Springs,  some  time  next 
day;  and  it  was  "some  time"  before  we  got  there,  sure 
enough.  We  had  picked  up  an  early  breakfast  somewhere  on 
the  road,  and  when  the  dinner-bell  rang  at  the  hotel  as  the 
cars  stopped,  we  did  not  lose  much  time  in  making  our  way 
to  the  dining-room.  The  door,  however,  was  locked,  and 
we  stood  before  it  like  a  drove  of  sheep,  some  hundred  or 
two  people.  Through  the  window  we  could  see  mine  host, 
in  shirt-sleeves  and  with  dirty,  matted  beard,  leisurely  sur- 
veying the  crowd  outside ;  in  the  yard,  and  on  the  porch 
near  us,  stood  some  barefooted  negroes,  with  dish-cloth  and 
napkin  in  hand,  staring  with  all  -their  might  at  train  and  pas- 
sengers, as  though  they  were  lost  in  speechless  wonder  that 
they  should  really  have  come.  In  the  party  with  us  was  a 
California!!,  some  six  feet  high,  who,  though  a  Southerner  by 
birth,  had  lived  too  long  in  California  to  submit  patiently  to 
the  delay  and  inconvenience  caused  by  the  "  shiftlessness  " 
of  the  people  hereabouts. 

"  Now,  you  lazy  lopers,"  he  called  to  the  darkies,  swinging 
the  huge  white-oak  stick  he  carried  fora  carle,  "get  inside 


TO    TEXAS,  AND  BY  THE    WAY.  357 

to  your  work.  And  if  that  door  ain't  opened  in  five  seconds 
from  now,  I  '11  break  it  down  with  my  stick." 

He  drew  his  watch ;  and,  either  because  of  his  determined 
voice,  or  his  towering  figure,  the  darkies  flew  into  the  kitchen, 
and  the  landlord  sprang  to  open  the  door,  while  the  crowd 
gave  a  hearty  cheer  for  the  big  Californian. 

New  Orleans  seemed  familiar  to  me ;  I  thought  I  could 
remember  whole  streets  there  that  I  had  passed  through,  as  a 
little  child,  clinging  to  the  hand  of  my  father  —  himself  an 
emigrant,  and  looking  on  all  the  strange  things  around  him 
with  as  much  wonder  as  the  two  little  girls  he  was  leading 
through  the  town.  How  it  came  back  to  me  !  the  slave- 
market,  and  the  bright-faced  mulatto  girl,  hardly  bigger  than 
myself,  who  so  begged  of  my  father  to  buy  her  and  take  her 
home  with  him,  so  that  she  could  play  with  and  wait  on  us. 
There  was  nothing  shocking  to  me,  I  regret  to  say,  in  seeing 
this  laughing,  chattering  lot  of  black  humanity  exposed  for 
sale,  though  my  good  father  doubtlessly  turned  away  with  * 
groan,  when  he  reflected  on  what  he  had  left  behind  him,  in 
the  old  fatherland,  to  come  to  a  country  where  there  were 
liberty  and  equal  rights  for. all.  I  can  fancy  now  what  he 
must  have  felt  when  he  spoke  to  the  little  woolly-head,  in  his 
sharp,  accentuated  dialect,  which  his  admirers  called  "  per- 
fect English,"  as  he  passed  his  hand  over  her  cheek  and 
looked  into  her  face  with  his  great,  kind  eyes.  He  said  he 
had  brought  his  children  to  a  free  country,  where  they  could 
learn  to  work  for  themselves,  and  carve  out  their  own  for- 
tunes ;  and  where  they  must  learn  to  govern  themselves,  and 
not  govern  others. 

Day  after  day,  on  foot  or  in  carriage,  we  rambled  through 
the  streets,  and  I  never  addressed  a  single  question  to  the 
driver  or  any  of  the  party,  satisfied  with  what  information 
accidentally  fell  on  my  half-closed  ear.  I  was  living  over 
again  one  of  the  dreams  of  my  early  days :  the  dream  I  had 


358  OVERLAND    TALES. 

dreamed  over  again  so  often,  among  the  snows  of  the  biting, 
cold  Missouri  winter,  and  on  the  hot,  dusty  plains  of  Arizona, 
amid  the  curses  of  those  famishing  with  thirst  and  the  groans 
of  the  strong  men  dying  from  the  fierce  stroke  of  the  unre- 
lenting sun.  Passing  through  the  parks  and  by  the  market- 
places, I  saw  again  the  negro  women,  with  yellow  turbans 
and  white  aprons,  offering  for  sale  all  the  tempting  tropical 
fruits  which  foreigners  so  crave,  and  still  dread.  And  I 
thought  I  saw  again  the  white,  untutored  hands  of  my  father, 
as  he  laboriously  prepared  seats  for  us  in  the  deepest  shade 
of  the  park,  and  dealt  out  to  us  the  coveted  orange  and 
banana.  The  cool,  delicious  fruit,  and  the  picture  of  flowers 
and  trees  in  the  park ;  the  black,  kindly  faces  of  the  negro 
servants,  and  the  laughing,  white-clad  children  at  play  — 
how  often  I  had  seen  them  again  in  my  dreams  on  the  desert ! 

Canal  street  looked  lonely  and  deserted,  as  did  the  stores 
and  shops  lining  either  side  of  the  broad,  aristocratic  street. 
The  material  for  a  gay,  fashionable  promenade  was  all  there ; 
only  the  people  were  wanting  to  make  it  such.  True,  there 
were  groups  occasionally  to  be  seen  at  the  counters  of  the 
shops,  but  in  most  such  cases  a  black,  shining  face  protruded 
from  under  the  jaunty  little  bonnet,  perched  on  a  mass  of 
wool,  augmented  and  enlarged  by  additional  sheep's-wool, 
dyed  black.  One  of  these  groups  dispersed  suddenly  one 
day,  vacating  the  store  with  all  the  signs  of  the  highest, 
strongest  indignation.  The  tactless  storekeeper,  who  had 
not  yet  quite  comprehended  the  importance  and  standing  of 
these  useful  members  of  society,  had  unwittingly  offended  an 
ancient,  black  dame.  She  had  asked  to  see  some  silks,  and 
the  shopkeeper  had  very  innocently  remarked,  "  Here,  aunty, 
is  something  very  nice  for  you." 

"I  wish  to  deform  you,  sir,"  replied  Aunt  Ebony,  brid- 
ling, "that  my  name  is  Miss  Johnson."  With  this  she 
seized  her  parasol  and  marched  out  of  the  store,  followed  by 
her  whole  retinue,  rustling  their  silks,  in  highest  dudgeon. 


TO    TEXAS,  AND  BY  THE   WAY.  359 

On  my  way  to  the  ferry,  when  leaving  New  Orleans  for 
Texas,  I  saw  something  that  roused  all  the  "  Southern  "  feel- 
ing in  me.  Two  colored  policemen  were  bullying  a  white 
drayman,  near  the  Custom-house.  I  must  confess  I  wanted 
to  jump  out,  shake  them  well,  take  their  clubs  from  them,  and 
throw  them  into  the  Mississippi  (the  clubs,  I  mean,  not  the 
precious  "niggers").  What  my  father  would  have  said, 
could  he  have  seen  it,  I  don't  know;  the  grass  had  long 
grown  over  his  grave,  and  covered  with  pitying  mantle  the 
scars  that  disappointments  and  a  hopeless  struggle  to  accom- 
plish purposes,  aimed  all  too  high,  leave  on  every  heart. 

As  the  cars  carried  us  away  from  the  city,  and  gave  us 
glimpses  of  the  calm  water,  and  the  villas,  and  orange-groves 
beyond,  there  came  to  me,  once  more, 

"  The  tender  grace  of  a  day  that  is  dead." 

It  was  just  a  soft,  balmy  day  as  this,  years  ago,  when  we 
lay  all  day  long  in  a  bayou,  where  the  water  was  smooth  and 
clear  as  a  mirror,  and  the  rich  grass  came  down  to  the  water's 
edge ;  and  through  the  grove  of  orange  and  magnolia,  the 
golden  sunlight  sifted  down  on  the  white  walls  and  slender 
pillars  of  the  planter's  cottage.  Stalwart  negroes  sang  their 
plaintive  melodies  as  they  leisurely  pursued  their  occupation, 
and  birds,  brighter  in  plumage  than  our  cold,  German  fath- 
erland could  ever  show  us,  were  hovering  around  the  field  and 
fluttering  among  the  growing  cotton. 

The  graceful  villa  was  still  there,  and  the  glassy  waters  still 
as  death  ;  but  the  villa  was  deserted,  and  the  rose  running 
wild  over  magnolia-tree  and  garden-path  ;  the  cotton- field 
lay  waste,  and  the  negro's  cabin  was  empty,  while  the  shrill 
cry  of  the  gay-feathered  birds  alone  broke  the  silence  that  had 
hopelessly  settled  on  the  plantation.  Farther  on,  I  saw  the 
cypress-forests  and  the  swamps,  and  I  fancied  that  the  trees 
had  donned  their  gray-green  shrouds  of  moss  because  of  the 


360  OVERLAND    TALES. 

deep  mourning  that  had  come  over  the  land.  The  number- 
less little  bayous  we  crossed  were  black  as  night,  as  though 
the  towering  trees  and  the  tangled  greenwood,  under  which 
they  crawled  along,  had  filled  them  with  their  bitter  tears. 
But  the  sun  shone  so  brightly  overhead,  that  I  shook  off  my 
dark  fancies,  particularly  when  my  eyes  fell  on  the  plump, 
white  neck  and  rounded  cheeks  of  the  lady  in  the  seat  before 
me.  I  had  noticed  her  at  the  hotel  in  New  Orleans,  where  I 
recognized  her  at  once  as  a  bride,  though  she  had  abstained, 
with  singularly  good  taste,  from  wearing  any  of  the  articles 
of  dress  outwardly  marking  the  character.  I  hoped,  secretly, 
that  I  might  become  acquainted  with  her  before  the  journey 
ended,  for  there  was  something  irresistibly  charming  to  me  in 
her  pleasant  face  and  unaffected  manner.  My  wish  was  soon 
gratified  ;  for  the  very  first  alligator  that  came  lazily  swimming 
along  in  the  next  bayou  so  filled  her  with  wonder,  that  she 
quickly  turned  in  her  seat  and  called  my  attention  to  it. 
Soon  came  another  alligator,  and  another ;  and  some  distance 
below  was  a  string  of  huge  turtles,  ranged,  according  to  size, 
on  an  old  log.  As  something  gave  way  about  the  engine  at 
this  time,  we  could  make  comments  on  the  turtle  family  at 
our  leisure  ;  and  when  the  cars  moved  on  again,  we  felt  as 
though  we  had  known  each  other  for  the  last  ten  years. 

I  cannot  think  of  a  day's  travel  I  have  ever  enjoyed  better 
than  the  ride  from  New  Orleans  to  Brashear.  The  dry,  dusty 
roads  and  withered  vegetation  I  had  left  behind  me  in  Cali- 
fornia, made  the  trees  and  green  undergrowth  look  so  much 
more  pleasant  to  me.  The  ugly  swamp  was  hidden  by  the 
bright,  often  poisonous,  flowers  it  produces ;  and  though  the 
dilapidated  houses  and  ragged  people  we  saw  were  not  a 
cheerful  relief  to  the  landscape,  it  was  not  so  gloomy  as  it 
would  have  been  under  a  lowering  sky  or  on  a  barren  plain. 

A  steamer  of  the  Morgan  line,  comfortable  and  pleasant  as 
ever  a  steamer  can  be,  carried  us  to  Galveston  —  a  place  I 


TO    TEXAS,  AND  BY  THE    WAY.  36 1 

had  pictured  to  myself  as  much  larger  and  grander.  But  the 
hotel  —  though  my  room  did  happen  to  look  out  on  the 
county  jail  —  was  well  kept ;  and  some  of  the  streets  looked 
like  gardens,  from  the  oleander-trees  lining  them  on  either 
side.  The  trees  were  in  full  blossom,  and  they  gave  a  very 
pleasant  appearance  to  the  houses,  in  front  of  which  they 
stood.  Some  few  of  these  houses  looked  like  a  piece  of  fairy- 
land :  nothing  could  have  been  built  in  better  taste,  nothing 
could  be  kept  in  more  perfect  order.  Too  many  of  them, 
however,  showed  the  signs  of  decay  and  ruin,  that  speak  to  us 
with  the  mute  pathos  of  nerveless  despair  from  almost  every 
object  in  the  South.  We  planned  a  ride  on  the  beach  for  the 
next  day,  which  we  all  enjoyed,  in  spite  of  the  somewhat  fresh 
breeze  that  sprung  up.  The  bride  was  anxious  to  gather  up 
and  carry  home  a  lot  of  "relics  "  — a  wish  the  bridegroom 
endeavored  to  gratify  by  hunting  up  on  the  strand  a  dead 
crab,  a  piece  of  ship-timber,  and  the  wreck  of  a  fisherman's 
net.  Discovering  that  the  driver  was  a  German,  I  held  con- 
verse with  him  in  his  native  tongue,  which  had  the  pleasing 
effect  of  his  bringing  to  light,  from  under  the  sand,  a  lot  of 
pretty  shells,  which  the  delighted  little  bride  carried  home 
with  her. 

The  following  day  we  started  for  Houston.  Eight  o'clock 
had  been  mentioned  as  the  starting  hour  of  the  train  for  that 
locality,  but  the  landlord  seemed  to  think  we  were  hurrying 
unnecessarily  when  we  entered  the  carriage  at  half-past  seven. 
There  was  no  waiting-room  at  the  starting-point  that  I  could 
see,  and  we  entered  the  cars,  which  stood  in  a  very  quiet  part 
of  the  town  (not  that  there  was  the  least  noise  or  bustle  in 
any  part  of  it),  and  seemed  to  serve  as  sitting  and  dining- 
rooms  for  passengers,  who  seemed  to  act  generally  as  if  they 
expected  to  stay  there  for  the  day.  But  we  left  Galveston 
somewhere  toward  noon,  and  since  we  were  all  good-natured 
people,  and  had  become  pretty  well  accustomed  to  the  speed 
3' 


362  OVERLA  ND    TALES. 

of  the  Southern  railroads,  we  really,  in  a  measure,  enjoyed 
the  trip.  The  people  in  the  cars — many  of  the  women  with 
calico  sun-bonnets  on  their  heads,  and  the  men  in  coarse  but- 
ternut cloth  —  reminded  me  of  the  Texan  emigrants  one 
meets  with  in  New  Mexico  and  Arizona,  where  they  drag 
their  "weary  length"  along  through  the  sandy  plains  with 
the  same  stolid  patience  the  passengers  exhibited  here,  list- 
lessly counting  the  heads  of  cattle  that  our  train  picked  up  at 
the  different  stations  on  the  road.  The  wide,  green  plains 
looked  pleasant  enough,  but  I  wanted  to  stop  at  the  little 
badly-built  houses,  and  earnestly  advise  the  inhabitants  to 
plant  trees  on  their  homesteads,  as  the  best  means  of  impart- 
ing to  them  the  air  of  "  home,"  which  they  were  all  so  sadly 
lacking.  The  cattle  roaming  through  the  country  looked 
gaunt  and  comfortless  —  like  the  people  and  their  habitations. 
Night  crept  on  apace ;  and  though  I  have  forgotten  (if  I 
ever  knew)  what  the  cause  of  delay  happened  to  be,  I  know 
that  we  did  not  reach  Houston  till  some  five  or  six  hours  later 
than  the  train  was  due.  I  was  agreeably  surprised  to  find 
vehicles  at  the  depot,  waiting  to  carry  passengers  to  the  dif- 
ferent hotels.  Our  hotel-carriage  was  an  old  omnibus,  with 
every  pane  of  glass  broken  out ;  and  the  opposition  hotel  was 
represented  by  a  calash,  with  the  top  torn  off  and  the  dash- 
board left  out.  Still  more  agreeable  was  the  surprise  I  met 
with  in  the  hotel  itself — a  large,  handsome,  well-furnished 
house,  giving  evidence  in  every  department  of  what  it  had 
been  in  former  days.'1  Before  the  war,  the  step  of  the  legisla- 
tor had  resounded  in  the  lofty  corridor,  and  the  planter  and 
statesman  had  met  in  the  wide  halls,  bringing  with  them  life, 
and  wealth,  and  social  enjoyment  to  the  proud  little  city. 
Now,  alas !  the  corridors  were  cheerless  in  their  desolation, 
and  the  grand  parlors  looked  down  coldly  on  the  few  people 
gathered  there.  The  proprietor  had  years  ago  lived  in  Cali- 
fornia; and  of  this  he  seemed  unreasonably  proud,  as  some- 


TO    TEXAS,  AND  BY  THE    WAY,  363 

thing  that  everybody  could  not  accomplish.  His  wife  was  a 
Southern  woman,  and  had  not  yet  learned  to  look  with  equa- 
nimity upon  the  undeniable  fact  that  her  husband  was  keeping 
a  hotel.  I  am  sure  that  she  had  no  reason  to  deplore  the  loss 
of  her  husband's  wealth  and  slaves  on  that  account ;  for  both 
she  and  her  husband  were  people  who  would  have  been  re- 
spected in  any  part  of  the  world,  even  if  they  had  not  kept 
hotel. 

In  the  midst  of  a  hot,  sultry  day,  a  fierce  norther  sprang 
up,  chilling  us  to  the  bone,  and  causing  us  to  change  our 
original  intention  of  remaining  here  for  some  time.  The 
bride,  too,  and  her  husband,  were  willing  to  return  to  a  more 
civilized  country  at  an  early  day.  Together  we  went  back, 
and  were  greeted  at  the  hotel  we  had  stopped  in,  and  by 
people  on  the  steamer,  as  pleasantly  as  though  we  were  in  the 
habit  of  passing  that  way  at  least  once  a  month.  At  New 
Orleans  we  parted,  the  new  husband  and  wife  returning  to  St. 
Louis,  while  I  retraced  my  steps  to  Louisville,  en  route  to 
New  York. 

In  the  cars  I  was  soon  attracted  by  the  appearance  of  a  lady 
and  gentleman — evidently  brother  and  sister  —  accompanied 
by  an  elderly  negro  woman.  The  gentleman  seemed  in  great 
distress  of  mind,  and  the  lady  was  trying  to  speak  comfort  to 
his  troubled  spirits.  The  negro  woman  would  gaze  longingly 
out  of  the  window,  shading  her  eyes  with  her  hand,  and  then 
stealthily  draw  her  apron  over  her  cheeks,  as  though  the  heat 
annoyed  her.  But  I  knew  she  was  crying,  and  the  sobs  she 
tried  to  repress  would  sometimes  almost  choke  the  honest  old 
negro.  The  train  went  so  slow  —  so  slow ;  and  the  gentleman 
paced  nervously  up  and  down,  whenever  the  cars  stopped  on 
the  way. 

Great  sorrow,  like  great  joy,  always  seeks  for  sympathy ; 
and  in  a  short  time  I  knew  the  agony  of  the  father,  who  was 
counting  every  second  that  must  pass  before  he  could  reach 


364  OVERLAND    TALES. 

the  bedside  of  his  dying  child.  A  young,  strong  maiden,  she 
had  been  sent  by  the  widowed  father  to  a  convent,  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Louisville,  there  to  receive  the  excellent 
training  of  the  sisters  of  the  school.  Stricken  down  suddenly 
with  some  disease,  they  had  immediately  informed  the  father 
by  telegraph ;  and  he,  with  his  sister,  and  Phrony,  the  old 
nurse  of  the  girl,  had  taken  the  next  train  that  left  New 
Orleans.  Both  he  and  his  father  had  been  prominent  seces- 
sionists, had  been  wellnigh  ruined  by  the  war,  and  had 
hoarded  what  little  they  could  save  from  the  common  wreck, 
only  for  this  daughter  —  and  now  she  was  dying.  So  slowly 
moved  the  train  !  Hour  after  hour  the  brother  paced  up  and 
down  the  narrow  space  in  the  cars,  while  the  sister  poured 
into  my  ears  the  tale  of  his  hopes  and  fears,  their  wretched- 
ness and  their  perseverance  during  the  war,  and  how,  in  all 
they  had  done  and  left  undone,  the  best  interests  of  Euge- 
nia had  been  consulted  and  considered.  The  negro  woman 
had  crouched  down  at  our  feet,  and  was  swaying  back  and 
forth  with  the  slow  motion  of  the  cars,  giving  vent  to  her 
long  pent  up  grief,  and  sobbing  in  bitterness  of  heart :  "  Oh, 
Miss  Anne!  Miss  Anne!  why  didn't  you  let  me  go  with  my 
chile?" 

To  make  full  the  cup  of  misery,  we  were  informed  next 
morning  that  our  train  would  stop  just  where  it  was  till  six 
o'clock  in  the  evening,  when  some  other  train  would  come 
along  and  carry  us  on.  I  don't  think  that  the  colonel  (the 
father)  did  any  swearing,  but  I  fear  that  some  of  the  Cali- 
fornians  who  were  of  our  party  did  more  than  their  share. 
Going  to  the  nearest  station,  he  telegraphed  the  cause  of  his 
delay  to  the  sisters  of  the  convent,  and  then  waited  through 
the  intolerably  long  day.  At  nightfall  the  train  moved  on, 
slowly,  slowly,  creeping  into  Louisville  at  last,  in  the  dull, 
cold,  dismal  day.  Snow-flakes  were  falling  in  the  gray  atmos- 
phere, settling  for  a  moment  on  the  ragged,  shivering  trees, 


TO    TEXAS,  AND  BY  THE    WAY.  365 

ere  they  fluttered,  half  dissolved,  to  the  muddy  ground.  The 
wind  rose  in  angry  gusts  now  and  again,  whirling  about 
the  flakes,  and  trying  to  rend  the  murky  clouds  asunder,  as 
though  jealous  of  the  drizzling  fog  that  attempted  to  take 
possession  of  the  earth. 

Breathlessly  the  colonel  inquired  for  dispatches  at  the 
hotel.  Yes ;  his  child  still  lived  !  A  buggy  was  ready,  await- 
ing them  at  the  door,  and  the  brother  and  sister  drove  off, 
leaving  Phrony  to  take  possession  of  their  rooms.  I  can 
never  forget  the  heart-broken  look  of  Phrony  when  the  buggy 
vanished  from  sight. 

"You  see,"  said  I,  "there  was  no  room  in  the  buggy  for 
you.  If  they  had  waited  to  engage  a  carriage,  they  might 
have  been  too  late." 

"  Yes,  Miss,"  said  Phrony,  absently,  and  turned  away. 

Toward  the  close  of  the  day,  when  already  hooded  and 
cloaked  for  the  onward  journey,  I  was  informed  that  Eugenia 
was  dead:  her  father  had  received  but  her  parting  breath. 
The  dispatch  was  sent  for  the  information  of  those  who  had 
shown  such  sympathy  for  the  grief-stricken  father.  I  stepped 
over  to  the  colonel's  rooms,  where  I  knew  Phrony  was.  She 
was  sitting  on  a  little  trunk  by  the  fire,  with  her  apron  over 
her  head,  and  her  body  bent  forward. 

"Then  you  know  it,  Phrony?  "  I  asked. 

"  Yes,  yes ;  knowed  it  all  along,  Miss.  Had  n't  never  no 
one  to  take  care  of  her  but  her  old  mammyj  Oh,  my  chile  ! 
my  chile  !  my  little  chile-!  And  she  's  done  gone  died,  with- 
out her  mammy!  Oh,  my  chile  !  my  chile  !  " 

I  tried  to  speak  kindly  to  her,  but  my  sobs  choked  me.  I 
looked  out  of  the  window,  but  there  was  no  light  there.  The 
snow  was  falling  to  Che  ground  in  dogged,  sullen  silence,  and 
the  wind,  as  though  tired  out  with  long,  useless  resistance, 
only  moaned  fitfully  at  times,  when  clamoring  vainly  for  ad- 
mission at  the  closed  windows, 
3'* 


366  OVERLAND    TALES. 

Was  it  not  well  with  the  soul  just  gone  to  rest  ?  Was  it 
not  better  with  her  than  with  us  —  with  me  —  who  must  still 
wander  forth  again,  out  into  the  snow,  and  the  cold,  and  the 
night? 

"  Oh,  my  chile  !  my  chile  !  "  sobbed  the  woman,  so  black 
of  face,  but  true  of  heart;  "if  I  could  only  have  died,  and 
gone  to  heaven,  and  left  you  with  Massa  Harry  !  Oh,  Miss 
Anne  !  Miss  Anne  !  what  made  you  take  my  chile  away  from 
me?" 

"It  is  only  for  a  little  while  that  you  will  be  parted  from 
her,  Phrony,"  I  said. 

"Bress  de  Lord!  Yes,  I'll  soon  be  with  my  little  chile 
again.  But  she  's  dead  now,  and  I  can't  never  see  her  no 
more.  Oh,  my  chile  !  my  chile  !  " 

I  closed  the  door  softly,  for  I  heard  the  warning  cry  of  the 
coachman  who  was  to  take  us  to  the  outgoing  train. 


MY  FIRST  EXPERIENCE  IN  NEW  MEXICO. 

ON  a  warm,  pleasant  afternoon  in  the  latter  part  of  August, 
1866,  our  command  reached  the  post  to  which  it  had 
been  assigned  —  Fort  Bayard,  New  Mexico.    Our  ambu- 
lance was  driven  to  the  top  of  a  little  hill,  where  I  had  leisure 
to  admire  the  singular  beauty  of  the  surrounding  country, 
while  my  husband  was  superintending  the  pitching  of  the 
tent. 

The  command  to  which  we  belonged  was  the  first  body  of 
Regulars  that  had  been  sent  across  the  Plains  since  the  close 
of  the  war.  Fort  Bayard  had  been  garrisoned  by  a  company 
of  colored  troops,  who  were  now  under  marching  orders,  and 
our  soldiers  were  to  build  the  fort,  which,  as  yet,  existed  only 
in  the  general's  active  brain.  The  Pinos  Altos  gold  mines 
were  only  twelve  miles  distant  from  here,  and  all  the  other 
mines  —  copper  and  gold  —  lying  within  a  range  of  fifteen 
miles,  had  been  prosperously  and  profitably  worked,  by  Mexi- 
cans and  Americans ;  but  after  the  breaking  out  of  the  war, 
when  the  troops  had  been  withdrawn  from  the  Territory, 
bands  of  roving,  hostile  Indians  had  visited  one  mine  after 
another,  leaving  in  their  wake  mutilated  corpses  and  black- 
ened ruins.  The  news  of  the  soldiery  coming  to  this  rich 
mining  country  was  drawing  miners  and  adventurers  from  far 
and  near,  and  Pinos  Altos  promised  to  become  a  mining  dis- 
trict once  more. 

Looking  around  me,  I  saw  a  number  of  officers  approaching 
from  where  the  One  Hundred  and  Twenty-fifth  Infantry  was 
camped.  They  came  to  welcome  us  to  the  camp,  and  I 

367 


368  OVERLAND    TALES. 

should  have  liked  to  receive  them  "in  style;"  but  all  I 
could  do  was  to  smooth  my  hair  with  my  hand.  The  tent 
was  not  yet  pitched,  and  I  certainly  should  not  leave  the 
ambulance,  for  I  had  observed  hosts  of  centipedes  crawling 
out  from  under  the  rocks  that  had  been  removed  to  make 
room  for  the  tent-poles.  The  officers  grouped  themselves 
around  the  ambulance,  and  after  congratulating  us  on  our 
safe  arrival,  wondered  how  I  had  ever  found  courage  to  come 
to  this  place.  "Did  it  not  seem  an  age  since  I  had  parted 
with  the  last  lady,  at  Fort  Selden?  "  and  "  How  would  I  like 
living  here  —  the  only  lady  in  this  wilderness  —  without 
quarters,  without  comforts  of  any  kind?  " 

"  Oh,  I  shall  do  nicely,"  I  said.  "  I  have  not  slept  under 
a  roof  since  leaving  Fort  Leavenworth,  five  months  ago,  and 
all  the  comforts  we  are  in  want  of  are  commissaries ;  which 
of  you,  gentlemen,  is  quarter-master,  by  the  way  ?  I  should 
like  to  send  to  the  commissary  to-day,  though  it  is  after 
issuing  hours." 

"Yes,  certainly,"  said  the  quarter-master;  "but  our  sup- 
ply is  limited  just  now.  What  do  you  wish  for  ?  " 

"  Sugar,  coffee,  tea,"  I  enumerated;  "  canned  fruit,  rice — " 

"Stop!  stop!"  hurriedly  exclaimed  the  quarter-master; 
"  all  in  the  world  we  have  in  the  commissary  is  soap,  salt, 
and  beans.  We  have  taken  our  coffee  without  sugar  since 
the  Apaches  captured  the  last  train,  and  we  rather  hoped  to 
get  commissaries  from  your  train." 

Accustomed  as  I  had  become  to  live  on  "hard  tack  "  and 
bacon  occasionally,  when  it  was  dangerous  to  light  fires,  on 
account  of  "drawing"  the  Indians,  this  piece  of  information 
did  not  dampen  my  spirits  in  the  least ;  but  at  night,  while 
the  cook  was  preparing  our  supper  of  coffee,  bacon,  and  soda- 
biscuits,  the  orderly  sergeant  of  the  company  made  his  ap- 
pearance at  the  entrance  of  our  tent,  and,  after  the  usual  mil- 
itary salute,  presented  a  large  tin-pan  filled  with  sugar,  and  a 


EXPERIENCE  IN  NE  W  MEXICO.  369 

bag  with  coffee.  "  The  men,"  he  said,  "  had  requested  that 
their  rations  of  coffee  and  sugar  be  delivered  to  the  lieuten- 
ant's wife,  till  the  next  train  should  bring  fresh  supplies." 
The  men  had  styled  me  "  the  mother  of  the  company;  "  and 
this  was  only  one  of  the  many  proofs  of  good-will  and  devotion 
I  was  constantly  receiving,  in  return  for  some  little  trifling 
kindnesses  I  had  shown  one  or  the  other,  while  crossing  the 
plains  and  deserts  of  Kansas  and  New  Mexico.  A  little  piece 
of  linen,  to  tie  up  a  bruised  finger ;  a  cup  of  vinegar,  a  lump 
of  white  sugar,  to  change  the  taste  of  the  wretched  drinking- 
water,  to  some  poor  invalid,  were  held  in  sacred  remembrance 
by  these  men ;  and  some  of  them  had  risked  their  lives,  in 
turn,  to  procure  for  me  a  drink  of  fresh  water,  when  sick  and 
faint,  crossing  Jornada  del  Muerto,  that  terrible  Journey  of 
Death. 

Our  tent  looked  cozy  enough,  when  finished  and  furnished. 
A  piece  of  brilliant  red  carpeting  was  spread  on  the  ground  ; 
the  bedding  was  laid  on  planks,  resting  on  trestles  ;  the  cov- 
erlet was  a  red  blanket ;  the  camp-chairs  were  covered  with 
bright  cloth,  and  the  supper  —  served  on  the  lid  of  the  mess- 
chest —  looked  clean  and  inviting.  The  kitchen,  just  back 
of  the  tent,  was  rather  a  primitive  institution  :  a  hole  dug  into 
the  ground,  two  feet  long,  a  foot  wide,  with  two  flat,  iron 
bars  laid  over  it,  was  all  there  was  to  be  seen.  Two  or  three 
mess-pans,  a  spider,  and  a  Dutch-oven  constituted  our  kitchen 
furniture  ;  and  with  these  limited  means,  an  old  soldier  will 
accomplish  wonders  in  the  way  of  cooking.  Before  enlisting, 
one  of  our  servants  had  been  a  baker  ;  the  other,  a  waiter  at  a 
hotel ;  and,  between  them,  they  managed  the  task  of  waiting 
on  us  very  creditably.  To  be  sure,  my  husband's  rank  enti- 
tled him  to  but  one  servant  from  the  company ;  but  then  I 
was  the  only  lady  with  the  command,  and  our  company  com- 
mander was  considerate  of  my  comfort. 

Reveille  always  comes  early ;  but  that  first  morning  in  Fort 
Y 


370  OVERLAND    TALES. 

Bayard  it  came  very  early.  The  knowledge  that  we  had 
reached  "our  haven  of  rest,"  after  a  five  months'  journey, 
made  me  want  to  sleep.  I  wished  to  feel  sure  that  our  tent 
was  not  to  be  struck  directly  after  breakfast  —  that  the  bed 
would  not  be  rolled  up  and  tumbled  into  the  army-wagon  — 
that  I  should  not  have  to  creep  into  the  ambulance,  and  ride, 
ride,  ride,  all  that  day  again.  But  we  had  agreed  to  visit  the 
great  Santa  Rita  copper  mines  that  day,  in  company  with  all 
the  officers ;  and  Charley  was  rapping  at  the  tent,  to  say  that 
breakfast  was  almost  ready.  We  started  directly  after  guard- 
mount  :  five  officers,  six  men  —  who  had  been  detailed  as  es- 
cort— and  myself.  We  were  all  well  mounted.  My  own  horse, 
Toby  —  the  swiftest  and  strongest  of  them  all  —  was  snow- 
white,  with  delicate,  slender  limbs,  and  tall,  even  for  a  cav- 
alry horse.  The  camp  was  located  in  a  valley,  some  four 
miles  square ;  gently  rising  hills  inclosed  it  on  every  side ; 
beyond  these,  on  one  side,  rose  the  San  Jose'  Mountains,  and, 
in  an  almost  opposite  direction,  the  Pinos  Altos  Range.  All 
these  hills  and  mountains  were  said  to  contain  metal ;  copper 
and  gold,  and  even  cinnabar,  could  be  found.  And  we  were 
now  making  our  way  to  the  foot-hills,  where  the  officers  had 
promised  to  show  us  some  rich  leads  they  had  discovered. 
We  dismounted  when  we  had  reached  the  place ;  and  some  of 
the  escort  acting  as  guard  against  Indian  "  surprises,"  the  rest 
were  set  to  work,  with  picks  and  hatchets,  to  dig  up  speci- 
mens. They  had  not  long  to  dig,  for  every  rock  they  struck 
contained  copper;  and  frequently  the  little  specks  of  gold  in 
it  could  be  seen  with  the  naked  eye. 

But  it  must  not  be  supposed  that  these  hills  were  barren,  or 
destitute  of  verdure.  On  the  contrary,  as  far  as  the  eye  could 
reach,  even  the  highest  mountains  were  covered  with  grass, 
scrub-oaks,  and  cedars  ;  while  in  the  valley,  and  on  the  hills, 
there  was  one  bright  carpet  of  grass  and  wild  flowers.  The 
white  tents  in  the  valley,  with  the  flag-staff  in  the  centre,  and 


EXPERIENCE  IN  NEW  MEXICO.  3/1 

the  flag  just  moving  in  the  morning  breeze,  the  dark-green 
trees  shading  the  tents,  the. stream  of  water  (called  by  the 
captain  Minne-ha-ha)  running  around  the  camp  —  all  this 
looked  so  refreshing,  so  beautiful,  after  those  long  day's 
marches  among  the  sand-hills  of  the  Rio  Grande,  and  the 
weary  tramps  over  the  burning  deserts  we  had  lately  left  be- 
hind us,  that  my  enthusiasm  rose  to  the  highest  pitch. 

"Why  don't  somebody  claim  this  delightful  country? — 
why  don't  people  in  the  army  resign,  and  own  mines,  and 
settle  down  here  to  live?"  I  asked — very  irrationally,  I  am 
afraid. 

"  My  dear  madam,"  said  the  captain,  leading  me  to  the 
edge  of  the  hill,  and  pointing  downward,  where,  amid  the 
long,  waving  grass  and  bright,  laughing  flowers,  I  discovered 
the  charred  logs  of  what  had  once  been  a  miner's  cabin, 
"neither  the  beauty  of  the  country,  nor  the  wealth  of  its 
minerals,  has  been  overlooked ;  and  hundreds  of  men  have 
lost  their  lives,  in  trying  to  wrest  from  the  Indian's  grasp 
what  would  be  a  benefit  and  blessing  to  civilization." 

I  wanted  to  go  near  enough  to  touch  with  my  hand  two 
graves  that  were  close  by  the  burnt  logs,  but  the  captain  re- 
fused to  let  me  go.  It  was  about  fifty  yards  from  where  the 
guard  was  placed;  and  that,  he  said,  was  almost  certain  death. 
He  promised;  that  as  soon  as  the  Mexican  guide  should  re- 
turn from  Fort  Craig,  he  would  place  him,  with  a  sufficiently 
large  escort,  at  my  command,  to  visit  the  whole  of  the  sur- 
rounding country.  The  guide — old  Cecilio  —  had  lived  in 
this  country  before  it  had  come  into  Uncle  Sam's  possession ; 
had  had  many  a  narrow  escape  from  the  Indians,  and  knew 
the  history  of  every  mine  and  shaft  in  all  that  region.  Point- 
ing to  the  San  Jose  Mountain  Range,  the  captain  said  there 
was  a  wagon-road  leading  aiong  its  foot  to  the  Santa  Rita 
mines,  but  that  he  knew  of  an  Indian  trail,  which  would 
take  us  there  much  quicker.  Remounting,  we  resumed  our 
journey. 


3/2  OVERLAND    TALES. 

New  beauty  surprised  us  every  little  while :  sometimes  it 
was  a  little  silver  rivulet,  running  over  the  most  beautiful 
ferns;  then  a  group  of  trees  and  red-berried  shrubs ;  and  again, 
a  clump  of  rare  flowers.  But  one  thing  weighed  down  the 
spirit  like  lead,  in  these  wild  regions :  it  was  the  death-like, 
uninterrupted  silence  that  reigned  over  all.  There  was  noth- 
ing of  life  to  be  seen  or  heard  —  no  bird,  no  butterfly.  The 
lizard  slipped  noiselessly  over  the  rocks  at  your  feet,  and  the 
tarantula  gaped  at  you  with  wide-open  eyes,  before  retreating 
to  the  shelter  of  her  nest  in  the  ground.  But  even  the  car- 
rion-crow, following  wherever  human  beings  lead  the  way, 
never  left  the  limits  of  the  camp. 

We  had  now  reached  a  deep  ravine.  A  shallow  creek  was 
running  at  our  feet ;  dark,  frowning  mountains  seemed  to  hem 
us  in  on  every  side ;  our  horses  looked  tired,  and  the  captain 
very  unexpectedly  announced  that  he  had  lost  his  way !  He 
said  he  felt  sure  that  this  creek  was  to  be  crossed  somewhere, 
but  not  here  where  our  horses  were  drinking  now.  Old 
Cecilio  had  always  accompanied  him  before  this,  and  —  and 
—  in  short,  we  were  lost !  Just  then  one  of  the  men  rode 
up  to  the  lieutenant's  side,  and  said  something  to  him  in  a 
low  tone.  "Where?"  asked  he.  The  man  pointed  down 
the  creek.  The  officers  dismounted  to  examine  the  ground, 
and  found  the  fresh  tracks  of  eight  or  nine  Apache  Indians. 
To  be  sure,  there  were  eleven  men  and  officers  on  our  side ; 
but  our  horses  were  pretty  well  worn,  and  the  camp  twenty 
miles  away,  for  aught  we  knew.  The  men  looked  to  their 
fire-arms,  while  the  officers  consulted.  If  we  were  attacked 
here,  the  Indians,  even  if  they  could  not  take  us,  could  starve 
us  out  before  any  party  sent  out  from  the  fort  could  find  us. 
Therefore,  to  proceed  was  our  only  chance.  Perhaps,  if  we 
could  succeed  in  reaching  the  top  of  the  next  mountain,  we 
might  discover  some  landmark  showing  us  our  way  back  to 
camp.  Some  one  proposed  to  search  again  for  the  trail  to 


EXPERIENCE  IN  NEW  MEXICO.  373 

the  copper-mine ;  but  the  captain  told  us  it  was  one  of  the 
favorite  haunts  of  the  Indians  when  in  this  part  of  the  coun- 
try, and  this  party  had  probably  gone  there  now.  At  last  we 
moved  on,  the  escort  so  disposed  that  I  was  covered  on  every 
side.  The  mountain  was  steep,  and  covered  with  sharp  rocks, 
cactus,  and  chaparral,  which  appeared  to  me  moving  and 
peopled  with  hideous  forms.  Every  moment  I  expected  to 
hear  a  savage  yell,  and  see  a  shower  of  arrows  flying  around 
our  devoted  heads.  Many  a  time  a  finger  was  raised  and 
pointed  silently,  so  as  not  to  frighten  me,  to  some  suspicious- 
looking  object ;  but  all  remained  quiet,  and  we  reached  the 
summit  at  last,  only  to  see  that  we  were  surrounded  by  moun- 
tains still  higher  and  steeper  than  the  one  we  had  climbed. 
Giving  our  horses  but  short  breathing-time,  we  made  the 
next  ascent,  hoping  then  to  see  our  way  clear ;  but  again  we 
were  disappointed.  Never  before,  perhaps,  had  the  foot  of 
the  white  man  left  its  impress  on  these  solitary  heights. 
There  was  untold  wealth  hidden  under  these  sharp  rocks,  and 
in  the  crevices  and  clefts  that  looked  so  dark  and  treacherous 
in  the  afternoon  sun  ;  but  even  the  mines  of  Golconda  would 
have  had  but  little  interest  for  us  just  then. 

We  had  now  come  to  a  mountain  that  we  must  descend 
some  five  hundred  feet  before  we  could  make  the  ascent  of 
the  next.  With  trembling  legs,  the  horses  began  the  steep 
descent ;  the  first  horse  stumbled  and  fell,  and  then  the  men 
were  ordered  to  dismount  and  lead  their  horses.  I  wanted 
to  do  the  same,  but  was  told  to  remain  in  the  saddle,  as  I 
could  not  mount  quick  enough,  should  the  Indians  attack  us. 
When  the  horses  found  foothold  at  last,  it  was  almost  impos- 
sible to  urge  them  on ;  so  some  of  the  men  volunteered  to 
reconnoitre  in  different  directions,  while  the  officers  remained 
with  me.  At  last,  one  of  the  men,  having  reached  the  sum- 
mit, telegraphed  to  us  that  he  had  discovered  some  friendly 
post,  and  made  signs  how  we  were  to  travel  round  the  moun- 


374  OVERLAND    TALES. 

tain.  Sundown  saw  us  in  camp  again,  worn  out  and  hungry, 
but  by  no  means  daunted  or  discouraged.  Santa  Rita  was  to 
be  abandoned  until  the  old  guide  returned  ;  but  Pinos  Altos 
was  to  be  visited  without  him,  in  a  day  or  two. 

Poor  Toby  was  tired  and  jaded  after  this  exploit,  so  he  was 
allowed  to  roam  through  camp,  at  his  "own  sweet  will," 
without  lariat  or  picket-rope ;  he  could  always  pick  out  our 
tent  from  the  rest,  and  he  came  to  look  into  it,  one  morning, 
just  as  the  cook  had  laid  a  freshly-baked  loaf  of  bread  on  the 
mess-chest  to  cool.  I  had  been  in  the  habit  of  giving  Toby 
a  bite  of  our  lunch  whenever  the  command  halted,  and  I  could 
reach  the  lunch-basket ;  he  was  satisfied  with  anything  I  gave 
him  —  a  bit  of  bacon,  a  piece  of  "hard-tack,"  a  lump  of 
sugar  —  and  thinking  now,  I  suppose,  that  he  was  being 
neglected,  when  I  did  not  look  up  from  my  sewing,  he  quietly 
withdrew.  The  next  moment  I  heard  the  men  outside  shout- 
ing, "Thief!  you  thief!  "  Stepping  to  the  entrance  of  the 
tent,  I  saw  Toby,  the  loaf  of  bread  firmly  between  his  teeth, 
making  his  way,  at  a  two-forty  gait,  across  the  parade-ground. 
This  made  our  bill  of  fare  rather  meagre  for  that  day  — 
"slap-jacks"  taking  the  place  of  the  bread.  But,  then,  we 
would  soon  have  eggs,  the  cook  said ;  and  he  could  do  so 
many  things  with  eggs.  Now,  these  eggs  were  some  that  we 
expected  certain  chickens,  then  en  route  from  Fort  Cummings, 
to  lay  for  us.  An  officer  there  had  had  some  chickens  brought 
up  from  El  Paso,  at  great  expense  and  greater  trouble;  of 
these,  he  had  promised  us  three  dozen,  and  they  were  now 
coming  to  Fort  Bayard  under  escort  of  ten  cavalrymen.  I 
had  made  Charley  promise,  on  honor,  never  to  ask  to  kill 
one  of  these  for  the  table,  but  to  content  himself  with  using 
the  eggs  they  would,  should,  and  ought  to  lay.  Toward 
evening  the  escort  with  the  wagon  came  in  sight ;  all  the  men 
rushed  down  the  road  to  meet  it ;  and  when  the  box  contain- 
ing the  chickens  was  opened  and  the  flock  let  loose,  the 


EXPERIENCE  IN  NEW  MEXICO.  375 

whole  company  gave  three  cheers,  and,  for  days  afterward, 
the  men  could  be  heard,  all  over  camp,  crowing  like  roosters. 
They  never  seemed  to  get  tired  of  feeding  the  chickens  extra 
handfuls  of  corn,  religiously  bringing  to  our  kitchen  any  stray 
egg  a  gadding  hen  had  laid  in  the  company  hay. 

The  morning  was  cool  and  bright,  when  Copp  and  Toby, 
capering  and  dancing,  as  though  we  had  never  been  lost  in 
the  mountains,  were  led  up  to  the  tent.  The  escort  was 
already  mounted,  and  every  man  of  the  twelve  looked  upon 
this  as  a  holiday.  They  all  had  their  curiosity  to  see  Pinos 
Altos;  but  the  clean  gauntlets  and  white  shirts  had  been 
donned  in  honor  of  this  —  to  them  —  great  event:  escorting 
the  first  white  lady,  an  officer's  wife,  into  Pinos  Altos.  I 
can  never  tire  of  speaking  of  the  magnificent  scenery  in  this 
part  of  New  Mexico.  It  was  not  New  Mexico  —  it  was  a 
small  piece  of  the  Garden  of  Eden,  thrown  in  by  Providence, 
from  above,  in  sheer  pity  for  the  Americans,  when  Uncle 
Sam  made  that  Ten  Million  Purchase,  known  as  the  Gadsden. 
We  galloped  along  a  smooth  road,  made  by  the  men  for 
hauling  fire-wood  over,  for  a  mile  or  two,  till  we  crossed  the 
Minne-ha-ha,  and  shortly  after  struck  the  Pinos  Altos  road. 
It  had  been  a  well  travelled  road  at  one  time,  though  the 
Indian  only  had  crossed  it,  in  his  wanderings,  these  three  or 
four  years  past.  Scrub-oak,  and  shrubs  for  which  I  knew  no 
name,  by  the  wayside;  the  aloe  plant  and  cactus,  grama 
grass  and  wild  flowers,  peeping  out  from  under  fragments  of 
moss-covered  rock ;  here  and  there  a  cedar,  or  pine,  made  the 
impression  that  we  were  inspecting  extensive  pleasure-grounds; 
the  little  stream  —  Whiskey  Creek  —  that  found  its  winding 
way  down  from  Pinos  Altos,  was  bordered  by  willows,  and, 
though  shallow,  afforded  us  all  a  cool  drink.  The  road  rises 
almost  from  the  time  of  leaving  the  fort,  but  so  gently  at 
first  as  to  be  hardly  noticed.  Part  of  the  escort  rode  before 
us,  for  those  romantic-looking  hills,  springing  up  here  and 


376  OVERLAND    TALES. 

there  on  our  way,  had  many  a  time  served  as  ambush  for  the 
savage  hordes  that  infest  all  this  country;  and  more  than  one 
grave  by  the  road-side  spoke  of  sudden  attack,  of  sharp  con- 
test, and  final  defeat. 

An  officer  alone  would  have  thought  it  unnecessary  to  take 
so  large  an  escort  as  ours,  but  the  commanding  officer  had 
stipulated  that  the  lieutenant  must  not  undertake  these  rides 
with  me  unless  he  took  twelve  men.  The  Indians  would  risk 
any  number  of  their  braves,  he  said,  to  get  an  officer's  wife 
into  their  possession ;  and  then  he  would  have  to  turn  out  his 
whole  command  to  rescue  me.  So,  to  save  him  this  trouble, 
we  promised  to  obey  orders. 

There  was  one  curious  hill,  that  I  never  passed  without 
counting  from  six  to  twelve  rattlesnakes  wriggling  up  the  side 
of  it.  This  rattlesnake  hill  was  about  half-way  between  camp 
and  Pinos  Altos ;  and  a  mile  or  two  beyond,  I  saw  the  first 
tall  pines,  from  which  this  region  takes  its  name.  They  were 
giants,  in  fact ;  it  made  me  dizzy  to  look  up  to  the  tallest 
point  I  could  see,  as  the  tree  swayed  gently  to  and  fro  against 
the  deep-blue  sky. 

Our  horses  were  walking  now ;  the  hills  grew  into  moun- 
tains, and  came  closer  around  us ;  the  road  was  hardly  a  road 
any  more  —  I  doubt  that  anything  but  Indian  ponies  or  pack- 
trains  had  ever  gone  over  it,  till  the  "boys  in  blue"  came 
here  —  and  the  inconsiderate  thorns  caught  and  tore  my 
"best"  riding-habit  at  every  step.  We  could  now  see  the 
red  earth  the  miners  in  this  section  liked  so  well  to  find  ;  they 
had  been  prospecting  all  along  Whiskey  Creek,  but  had  gone 
higher  and  higher,  till  settling  in  Pinos  Altos  proper,  at  last. 
Up,  up,  we  went,  till  I  thought  we  must  be  nearing  the 
clouds.  The  air  felt  sharp  and  cool,  even  in  the  midday  sun, 
but  we  had  not  yet  reached  the  summit. 

At  last  the  advance-guard  halted,  and  one  of  the  men, 
turning,  uttered  an  exclamation  of  wonder  and  surprise.  The 


EXPERIENCE  IN  NEW  MEXICO.  377 

Pinos  Altos  people  had  cut  down  the  tall  pines  as  much  as 
possible  on  this  side,  because  the  Indians  had  always  ap- 
proached under  cover  of  them  when  they  had  made  their 
attacks  on  the  place  ;  and  now,  without  hindrance  or  obstruc- 
tion, we  had  a  view,  such  as  I  have  never  enjoyed  since.  All 
the  mountains  I  had  thought  so  immensely  high  lay  at  our 
feet,  and  away  beyond  them  I  could  see  far  into  the  country 
—  for  hundreds  of  miles,  it  seemed  to  me.  To  the  right  of 
us,  we  could  peer  into  Old  Mexico;  the  Three  Brothers  — 
three  peaks  very  similar  in  appearance  and  close  together  — 
were  pointed  out  to  me  ;  and  over  that  way  was  Janos,  they 
said  —  the  first  town  after  crossing  the  border  —  the  place 
our  deserters  and  fugitives  from  justice  always  tried  to  reach. 
Five  minutes'  ride  now  brought  us  in  sight  of  Pinos  Altos  — 
a  few  straggling  shanties,  built  of  logs,  brush,  or  adobe,  just 
as  it  happened  to  suit  the  builder.  Beyond  Pinos  Altos  the 
world  seemed  literally  shut  in,  or  shut  out,  by  mountains; 
there  was  snow  on  the  highest  peaks  nine  months  of  the  year ; 
no  one  had  felt  inclined  to  explore  them  as  yet  — indeed,  it 
was  all  people  could  do  to  draw  their  breath  comfortably 
here,  I  thought.  The  streets  in  this  city  had  not  yet  been 
thoroughly  regulated,  as  some  of  the  inhabitants  had  found  it 
convenient  to  commence  mining  operations  in,  or  immedi- 
ately outside,  their  houses ;  and,  following  a  good  lead  they 
had  struck,  had  sometimes  continued  these  operations  till 
some  other  miner,  with  six-shooter  in  hand,  had  declared  no 
man  had  a  right  to  dig  "round  his  shanty."  Some  other 
miner  had  coaxed  the  waters  of  Whiskey  Creek  on  to  his 
"claim,"  situated  on  the  other  side  of  town,  having  dug  for 
this  purpose  a  ditch  some  five  or  six  feet  deep.  Still  another 
had  sunk  a  shaft  twenty  feet  deep,  at  his  front  door,  so  as  to 
"hold  that  mine"  for  two  years.  But  mining  was  not  con- 
fined to  the  streets  of  the  city,  by  any  means ;  companies  of 
five,  six,  or  twenty  men  had  ventured  out  as  far  as  their  num- 
32* 


3/8  OVERLAND    TALES. 

her  would  permit.  It  would  not  have  been  a  very  safe  occu- 
pation at  the  best ;  for  even  our  men,  when  sent  to  cut  hay 
within  sight  of  the  fort,  had  to  work  with  their  revolvers 
buckled  on,  and  their  carbines  within  reach.  How  much 
more,  then,  did  these  men  risk,  in  lonely,  out-of-the-way 
places,  where  no  succor  could  reach  them  —  where  only  the 
serene  sky  overhead,  and  the  red  demon  inflicting  the  torture, 
could  hear  the  last  agonized  cry  that  escaped  the  blanched 
lips  of  his  writhing,  helpless  victim. 

As  we  approached,  the  miners  laid  down  their  picks,  and 
stared  at  us.  Here  and  there  a  Mexican  woman,  who  had 
followed  the  fortunes  of  her  lord  and  master  into  the  wilder- 
ness, appeared  at  the  door  of  some  shanty,  her  head  covered 
with  the  inevitable  rebozo  ;  and,  taking  a  quick  survey  of  our 
party,  would  vanish  the  next  moment  to  communicate  the 
news  of  our  arrival  to  her  amigos  and  compadres.  "Taking" 
the  ditches,  but  carefully  avoiding  the  shafts,  we  came  to  a 
house  rather  larger  and  better-appearing  than  the  rest,  and 
were  invited  by  a  mannerly  Spaniard  to  alight  and  rest  in  his 
"  house."  His  wife  waited  on  us  in  the  pleasantest  manner ; 
but  the  building  we  had  entered  consisted  of  only  one  room, 
which  was  store,  sitting-room,  kitchen,  and  all.  The  news 
of  our  arrival  spread  like  wild-fire ;  miners  from  far  and  near 
hurried  to  Rodriguez'  store ;  and  the  place  being  small,  the 
circle  around  us  was  soon  as  close  as  good  manners  would 
allow  of — and  good  manners  they  all  had,  Mexicans  and 
Americans.  Those  who  could  not  find  room  inside,  were  out 
by  the  door,  patting  Toby,  examining  my  side-saddle,  and 
asking  questions  of  the  escort.  Seiior  Rodriguez  was  in  the 
habit  of  weighing  the  gold  the  miners  found  in  the  course  of 
the  day,  and  buying  it  for  greenbacks,  or  exchanging  for  it 
such  provisions  as  he  had  on  hand.  A  huge,  bearded  Mexi- 
can stepped  up  to  the  little  counter  now,  and  emptying  his 
leather  bag  of  its  shining  contents,  selected  the  largest  piece 


EXPERIENCE  IN  NEW  MEXICO.  379 

—  the  size  of  a  hazel-nut  —  and  presented  it  to  me,  with  an 
air  of  such  genuine  honesty,  such  chivalric  grace,  that  I  felt 
I  could  not  refuse  the  gift  without  wounding  the  man's  feel- 
ings. I  could  only  say,  "  Thank  you,"  in  English;  but  hav- 
ing accepted  this  first  offering,  I  could  not  refuse  to  accept 
from  the  rest  the  largest  piece  of  gold  each  miner  had  found 
that  day.  The  first  piece  had  been  the  largest  found. 

Taking  our  departure  when  the  sun  was  almost  hidden  be- 
hind the  mountains,  we  could  not  shake  off  a  nervous  feeling 
as  we  picked  our  way  through  the  labyrinth  of  rocks,  trees, 
and  shrubs,  for  this  was  the  favorite  hour  for  Indian  attacks. 
They  hardly  ever  attack  a  train  or  camp  after  night ;  their 
chosen  time  is  just  before  dark,  or  early  in  the  morning,  be- 
fore sunrise  ;  of  course,  they  are  not  particular  as  to  what  hour 
of  the  day  they  can  appropriate  your  scalp,  but  they  have 
seldom  or  never  been  known  to  attack  the  whites  at  night. 

We  could  already  see  the  camp-fires  in  the  distance,  when 
a  number  of  stealthily  moving  objects  in  the  road  attracted 
my  attention.  Toby  snorted  as  though  an  Indian  were 
already  clutching  at  the  bridle ;  but  a  most  discordant  yelp- 
ing, barking,  and  howling  struck  my  ear  just  then  like  the 
sweetest  of  music  :  a  pack  of  coyotes  only  had  gathered  around 
us.  They  followed  us  all  the  way  to  camp,  and,  surrounding 
our  quarters,  kept  up  their  serenade  till  broad  daylight.  A 
band  of  equally  musical  wild-cats  had  chosen  the  infantry 
camp  as  the  theatre  for  their  performances ;  and  an  occasional 
roar  from  one  of  those  long-built,  panther-like  animals  called 
California  lions  taught  me  that  there  was  life  and  animation 
in  Nature  here  at  night,  if  not  in  the  daytime. 

Old  Cecilio  having  returned  during  our  absence,  we  started 
out,  the  next  morning,  after  guard -mount,  on  another  explor- 
ing expedition.  When  the  hills,  shutting  in  the  valley  with 
the  fort,  had  closed  behind  us,  we  halted  for  a  moment  to 
look  down  the  road  by  which  we  had  first  approached  Fort 


380  OVERLAND    TALES. 

Bayard.  There,  before  us  to  the  left,  lay  the  San  Jose  Moun- 
tain Range,  grand  and  stately,  partly  covered  with  cedars, 
pines,  and  firs.  Winding  along  the  foot  of  the  range,  the 
eye  could  follow  the  course  of  the  beautiful,  silver-clear  White 
Water,  bordered  by  willows,  ash,  and  poplars.  The  most 
fantastic  rocks  rose  abruptly  out  of  the  water,  here  and  there, 
covered  with  moss  and  vines ;  an  aloe  plant  or  cactus  gener- 
ally adorning  the  highest  point  —  growing  where  not  a  hand- 
ful of  earth  could  be  seen,  from  which  they  might  draw  life 
and  sustenance.  To  the  right  of  us  —  ah  !  there  was  New 
Mexico,  its  barren  hills,  its  monotonous  plains,  "the  trail  ~f 
the  serpent  "  lying  over  all ;  for  the  Indians  had  only  lately 
set  fire  to  the  grass,  and  it  had  consumed  the  scant  vegetation. 

An  hour's  ride  brought  us  in  sight  of  the  ruins  of  f "  a.  S?1- 
Jose  copper  mines,  on  the  side  of  the  mountain, 
rather  steep  climbing  to  reach  it ;  but  the  plateau,  on  <- 
the  works  lay,  must  have  been  a  quarter  of  a  mile  aero. 
Placing  sentinels,  we  inspected  the  old  mill.  Everything 
was  rude  and  primitive,  but  huge  in  dimensions ;  and  thi 
different  jacals  that  surrounded  the  adobe  building  corrobo- 
rated the  guide's  statement  that  some  fifty  men  had  been 
employed  here,  "and  they  had  fought  bravely  and  sold  their 
lives  dearly,"  he  said,  "the  day  they  were  attacked  by  the 
Indians,  three  or  four  years  ago." 

"A  white  man,"  Cecilio  continued,  "a  rebel,  had  led  this 
band  of  Indians,  and,  adding  his  knowledge  of  the  habits  of 
the  white  man  to  the  cunning  of  the  savages,  but  few  Ameri- 
cans or  Mexicans  could  escape  these  fiends.     This  wrefch 
never  erred  in  the  aim  he  took  —  a  ball  through  the  ne' 
always  sending  his  victim  to  his  last  account  —  but  here, 
this  spot,  he  had  found  his  match.     Some  American,  wh  jSe 
name  the  guide  had  forgotten,  had  sent  a  bullet  througl  his 
traitor's  heart,  at  last ;  and  the  Indians,  never  resting  until 
the  brave  man  had  been  laid  in  the  dust,  then  left  this  region, 


EXPERIENCE  IN  NE  W  MEXICO.  381 

because,  possibly,  there  was  nothing  more  to  destroy."  Clear- 
ing away  the  brush  and  rubbish  at  our  feet,  the  guide  held  up 
his  hand— "And  here,  senora,"  he  said,— pointing  to  two 
sunken  graves  marked  by  pieces  of  smoothed  plank,—"  here 
they  are  buried  side  by  side :  the  rebel  who  led  the  Indians, 
and  the  white  man  who  killed  him."  It  was  nothing  un- 
common to  meet  with  nameless  graves  in  this  country;  but  a 
thrill  passed  through  my  heart,  as  I  looked  at  these  two 
mounds,  where  friend  and  foe  slumbered  so  peacefully,  "side 
by  side." 

It  was  dangerous  to  tarry  long  in  one  spot,  the  guide  re- 
u.  nded  us.  The  orderly  brought  Copp  and  Toby,  and  we 
puu-ijed  our  way  through  the  laughing,  blooming  valley. 
Nuts,,  frapes,  and  hops  grew  wild  here ;  and  peaches,  Cecilio 
v  ew  near  the  Santa  Rita  mines,  but  they  had  been 

>.  fi  d  there  by  the  former  inhabitants  and  employes  of  the 
,ies.  The  mines  originally  belonged  to  a  Spanish  lady,  to 
//hose  ancestors  seven  leagues  of  the  country  surrounding 
hem  had  been  granted  by  the  Spanish  Government,  long 
before  the  territory  belonged  to  Uncle  Sam.  Her  represen- 
tatives had  worked  the  mines  with  a  force  of  some  two  hun- 
dred men,  till  the  Indians  had  overpowered  them,  and  de- 
stroyed the  works.  The  immense  piles  of  copper-ore,  on 
either  side  of  the  road,  told  us  that  we  were  nearing  Santa 
Rita,  at  last;  and  there,  just  at  the  point  of  the  San  Jose 
Range,  lay  a  large,  strongly-built  adobe  fort.  Buildings  of 
different  sizes  and  kinds  lay  clustered  around  this,  which 
appeared  to  be  furnace  and  fastness  at  once.  Placing  scnti- 
*  °ls,  we  commenced  exploring  above  ground ;  under-ground 
efused  to  venture,  in  my  cowardice.  We  found  works  of 
„>_  siderable  magnitude;  I  counted  twelve  bellows,  in  a  kind 
of  hall,  that  must  have  been  sixty  feet  high,  but  the  rafters 
am  beams  overhead  had  rotted,  and  the  weight  of  the  mud, 
with  which  all  roofs  are  covered  in  this  country,  had  borne 


382  OVERLAND    TALES. 

down  the  roof,  and  half  covered  an  enormous  wheel,  some 
forty  feet  in  diameter.  Everything  about  this  wheel  that  was 
not  wood,  was  copper ;  not  a  vestige  of  iron,  steel,  or  stone, 
was  to  be  seen  around  here :  it  was  copper,  wood,  and  adobe. 
But  copper  was  everywhere  —  copper-ore,  so  rich  that  the 
veins  running  through  it  could  be  scraped  out  with  a  pen- 
knife; copper  just  smelted;  copper  beaten  into  fantastic 
shapes,  as  though  the  workmen,  in  their  despair,  had  meant 
to  use  these  as  weapons  against  the  Indians,  when  attacked 
here,  years  ago.  For  the  same  band,  with  the  white  leader, 
had  attacked  these  works ;  and  Cecilio  showed  us  the  dents 
the  Indian  arrows  had  made  in  the  little  wooden  door  the 
men  had  succeeded  in  closing,  when  first  attacked.  But  the 
families  of  these  men  had  lived  in  the  buildings  outside  the 
fort ;  and  to  rescue  wife  and  children  from  death,  and  worse 
than  death,  they  had  abandoned  their  place  of  safety  in  the 
fort,  and,  with  the  superintendent  leading  them,  they  had 
fought  the  savages  bravely,  but  had  been  defeated  and  slaugh- 
tered, at  last.  Leaving  nine  men  with  me,  the  lieutenant, 
guide,  and  three  men  descended  into  the  shaft,  went  some 
five  hundred  yards,  and,  on  their' return,  reported  that  every- 
thing looked  as  though  deserted  only  yesterday. 

Having  confidence  in  old  Cecilio,  we  now  took  the  trail 
we  had  missed  the  other  day,  as  this  would  enable  us  to  visit 
the  San  Jose  gold  mine  on  our  way  back  to  camp.  We 
could  ride  only  "Indian  file,"  but  soon  came  to  a  mountain 
composed  entirely  of  white  flint.  Sand  and  earth,  carried 
here,  by  the  wind,  and  bearing  grass  and  flowers,  could  be 
scraped  aside  anywhere,  discovering  underneath  the  same 
semi-transparent  rock.  Again  we  took  the  narrow  trail, 
which  brought  us  to  what  appeared  to  be  the  entrance  to  a 
cave,  in  the  side  of  a  hill ;  a  wooden  cross  was  fastened  over 
it,  and  a  road,  built  entirely  by  hand,  led  to  the  half-con- 
sumed remains  of  a  number  of  buildings,  on  the  banks  of  a 


EXPERIENCE  IN  NEW  MEXICO.  383 

creek.  The  guide  and  lieutenant  entered  -the  mine  alone, 
leaving  the  men  for  my  protection,  but  soon  returned,  as 
fallen  earth  blocked  up  the  passage  near  the  entrance. 

"  But  oh,  seTwra,  the  gold  taken  from  this  mine  was  some- 
thing wonderful,"  the  guide  said,  enthusiastically;  "and 
there  is  still  a  whole  '  cow-skin '  full  of  it,  buried  in  one  of 
these  holes" — pointing  to  different  shafts  we  were  passing 
on  our  way  to  the  burnt  cottages.  "  When  the  Indians  came 
here  the  white  men  tried  to  take  it  with  them,  but  were  so 
closely  pursued  that  they  threw  it  into  one  of  these  places, 
intending  to  come  back  for  it ;  but  all  they  could  do,  later, 
was  to  bury  their  people  decently,  and  the  gold  is  still  there 
—  left  for  some  stranger  to  find." 

The  eyes  of  the  soldiers  —  gathered  around  the  graves  we 
had  dismounted  to  see  —  glittered  at  the  old  guide's  tale; 
but  the  sight  of  these  lonely,  forgotten  graves  could  awaken 
but  one  thought  in  my  breast :  How  long  would  it  be  before 
another  group  might  bend  over  our  graves  and  say,  "  I 
wonder  who  lies  buried  here  !  " 


THE    END. 


ay  135 


_ 


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